Out of the Ashes
by Dreams2Paper11
Summary: Ash Ketchum's destiny experiences a sudden twist in fate when a Team Rocket raid on Professor Oak's laboratory takes the life of his mother. Ash has an additional goal now when he takes up his first Pokemon–become the strongest trainer in the world...strong enough to protect his loved ones and take out Team Rocket along the way.
1. The Loss

**AN: Warning: the angst-train has pulled into the station. All aboard!**

* * *

Ash never really thought about dying.

In the blissful, worry-free life of a ten year-old, such dark contemplations were reserved for a time later, when he was older and understood the world in all its jaded glory just a little bit better.

A week before he was due to receive his first Pokemon and begin his personal journey to become the best trainer in history, Ash went to bed at a decent time, spurred by the scolding of his mother, Delia Ketchum. Curled up under the blankets, he found his thoughts turning, as they had been for the past month, to the long path ahead of him. He could hear his heart beating rapidly in anticipation. His skin itched with impatience. He thought he might explode before the fated day would roll around.

His mother kissed him goodnight on the forehead. Ash wrinkled his nose and pretended not to secretly love her tight hug and fond caress of his bangs.

"Remember, sweetheart," she said, pulling on her jacket, "I'm helping Professor Oak with a project tonight, all right? If something happens, you have my number." She kissed him again.

"I'm ten, mom," he groaned self-importantly, "I'm too old for that stuff!" But on the inside he was smiling, his heart buoyed by good feelings. All was right with the world. Her footsteps tapped down the stairs. A level down, Ash heard the front door swing open and shut. Another regular Monday evening.

He fell asleep with dreams of stadiums and cheering voices.

He was woken up abruptly by the town's sirens and flashing lights through his window.

Someone was knocking on the door.

Fuzzy with sleep, and startled by the sudden clamor, Ash stumbled out of bed on legs that weren't yet properly awake and ran down the stairs. The alternating red and blue flashes pierced the darkness of his living room, seeping in through the glass window semicircle in the front door.

Ash threw the door open to a nightmare.

Pallet Town was tiny, and even so, Ash lived in the sector where most of the important businesses and buildings clustered. Professor Oak (a dear family friend) practically lived in his lab, which was visible from the Ketchum front porch. Which was why Ash immediately saw the entire lab engulfed in flame, a bright smear of livid yellow and red snapping and roaring in defiance at the night sky. There was a helicopter droning in the background, its metal underbelly illuminated by the immense bonfire that was slowly spreading among the houses. Black-suited silhouettes dashed back and forth in from of the flames. One swiveled, the shiny leather fabric of his jacket stretching and catching the light. Ash saw a large red 'R' printed across its expanse.

Someone grabbed his shoulders and shook him. Ash ripped his wide eyes from the horrifying scene. His neighbor, Mr. Martin, was holding him and shouting in his face. The volume was just another stimulus thrown at him within the span of seconds. He couldn't compute the questions spoken with the movements of Mr. Martin's lips.

Eventually, the words sank into his head: "It's a Team Rocket raid! Ash, where's your mother? Is Delia home? Ash! Where's your mother?"

 _Where's your mother?_

"She–she was helping Professor Oak tonight," he said blandly, his tongue clumsy. Mr. Martin blanched. Ash watched the blood drain from the man's face. A terrible sense of vertigo began buzzing in his ears.

Suddenly forcefully calm, deceitfully so, Mr. Martin wiped at his shiny forehead and said, "Ash, you need to come inside. The police are working together with the fire department. We need to be where it's safe. I need you to wait inside with me, okay? Okay, Ash?"

"No, my mom's in there," Ash said a little louder, pointing at the awful blaze. The fire seemed demonic, roaring and snapping and screaming shrilly with a fierce wind. A window exploded on the second floor of the lab, the sound of shattering glass warped by the intense heat. Ash's feet started carrying him forward, and Mr. Martin immediately herded him back towards the front door.

"My mom's in there, we need to get her–"

"Ash, get inside please, it's okay–"

"It's not okay!" Ash screamed. "Let _go!"_ He bit Mr. Martin's hand when it came up to rest on his shoulder. Yelping, the man ripped his arm away and staggered, giving Ash room. The ten-year-old was gone in a flash, his legs speeding him down the driveway and towards the scene. The black-suited figures had leapt onto a ladder that trailed from the helicopter like a gut from a wound. The helicopter was just pulling away when Ash ran past them, uncaring, his eyes fixed on the untameable mass of spitting fire. The fierce wind stirred by the blades battered at his clothes and hair, summoning instinctual tears.

A circle of firemen had staked out the scene. A ring of Squirtles were positioned in front of them, providing a steady stream of water guns onto the blaze, but even those proved ineffective. Their backs turned to him, they had no idea of Ash's presence. He burst through the ring and kept running, ignoring the team's startled shouts and screams.

He was screaming _"Mom!"_ over and over. He wasn't sure when he started it, but he couldn't make the awful keening stop. The cry sucked the breath out of his chest, and every inhalation carried less and less oxygen. Smoke reached down his throat and closed tightly around his lungs. He couldn't breathe, and he felt lightheaded from the smoggy air.

The heat was blistering. Pain introduced itself to him, in a greater quantity than he had ever known before. It seared along his exposed arms and face. He paced back and forth in front of the blaze, struggling to press closer, but the field of heat pressed him back.

This wasn't real. Things like this didn't happen in Pallet Town. This wasn't _real_.

Another window exploded, and Ash felt a shower of sparks and smoldering debris pepper his skin like tiny stinging Beedrills. He cried out, shielding his face too late. His body screamed at him to go back but his mind and heart willed him onwards. Acute panic had wiped away rational thought. Maybe his mother would come stumbling out of that flaming entryway, coughing and soot-stained but _alive_ –

A gloved hand seized his shoulder and dragged him back. He fought viciously like a cornered Rattata, biting and clawing and writhing. His eyes were wide open. He didn't understand—couldn't think through the fog of terror and fear. Why wasn't his mom walking out of that doorway? Did the firemen already pull her out? _Where was his mother?_

Images burned themselves into his retinas–the bright white-orange fire clawing at the sky, black-suited figures darting back and forth like flickering shadows, the cold gleam of the moon far above him–

At last, somebody ordered desperately, "Kadabra, Hypnosis!"

A pressure exerted itself on his mind, undeniable. The touch, while not painful, was alien and firm like velvet-covered steel. Sleep, a sympathetic, echo-y voice ordered. Ash was a house of cards. The voice plucked the trembling card from the bottom, and Ash was suddenly imploding, falling and curling in on himself and fluttering into a thousand pieces.

He gave himself over to the blackness.

* * *

He had second degree burns all over his arms and face. The doctors didn't tell him this; he had to read it upside down on the chart posted by his bedside. The doctors barely told him anything beyond the necessary stuff. They tended to smile softly and speak with slow, short sentences, like Ash had suddenly experienced a sharp loss in IQ.

For the most part, Ash stared out of the window.

His mother was dead. His mother was dead, and there wasn't even a body. It had burned in the fire. They only knew because they recovered her old trainer ID amongst the rubble, and her favorite steel bracelet. Both items sat in a box tucked out of Ash's vision in the corner of the hospital room.

The smallest thing sent him into a hysterical fit or an hours-long period where he barely spoke a word. He cried at random intervals. Once, a nurse was helping him out of bed and tears just began dripping down his face silently. The nurse handed him a tissue and stroked his back, but it wasn't the way his mother would do it, so Ash shrank away from the touch. Another time, he woke up with the uncomfortable sensation of tears drying on his cheeks, his eyes blotchy and red. Still yet, he shifted too quickly and his burns screamed at him, prompting a long, sobbing breakdown, even though the physical pain wasn't really that bad.

An overwhelming sense of dark helplessness pressed down upon him. The doctors controlled every aspect of his world now, which had shrunk to the pinpoint of his hospital room and the attached bathroom. There was nothing he could do to fix the scenario. He couldn't bring his mother back. He couldn't hurt the people responsible for killing her. He couldn't force himself to heal faster. He couldn't even wrest control of his emotions. He was just hurt and helpless.

He hated it.

But most of all, _he hated Team Rocket._

* * *

Professor Oak had survived the ordeal.

According to the story the local authorities finally gave Ash, the Professor had stepped outside to take a call just before the first explosion had occurred, and the force propelled him out of the field of danger. He lay in a thicket, unconscious, but safe. After the initial bomb used to break through the east wall of the lab, Team Rocket invaded the building and stole all of the Pokemon and research data. When they had taken all they wanted, they started the fire and left.

Miraculously, the policeman said, Oak had survived with just a broken arm and some scrapes and minor burns.

The Professor came to visit Ash after a week had passed, when his own clearance from the hospital was allowed.

"I am so, so sorry, Ash," the man said, tears in his eyes. He clasped Ash's limp hand, mindful of the bandages wrapped around the limb. "I'm so sorry. It should have been me. It should've been me."

 _Yes,_ Ash agreed, but he was ashamed to think it. _It should have been you._

* * *

They released him from the hospital after another week. Since Ash had no other relatives, Professor Oak took him on as a temporary ward. Someone had gathered up Ash's belongings from his house and brought them in the form of a few duffel-bags. Ash stared at them as he slipped the strap of the first over his slim shoulder. It was strange how easy it seemed to compress his entire life into just a few containers.

"Do you want to go to the house and grab anything else?" Professor Oak asked gently, his good hand on Ash's shoulder. People tended to do that nowadays–touch him constantly and unnecessarily, as though all the might of their well-wishings could rewrite the tragedy.

Ash thought of the empty house, soot-stained and mockingly hollow. Thinking of his home–his old home, now–brought with it a strange disconnection. Happy Ash had his mother and played in the field behind their home and obsessed about Pokemon battles and fanciful dreams and went to bed every night at ten o'clock and kissed his mother in the morning when he came downstairs for breakfast. It was like reading a fairy tale. An intense longing for it gripped his heart, icy with the fact that he couldn't have it. Could never have it. Team Rocket had ripped out all the pages and burned them in a fire.

"No," he finally muttered. "I don't want to go back." _I want to go back. I want to go back so badly. I want my mom to be waiting for me in the kitchen. I want her to get up and smile and hug me and kiss me. I want her to not be dead._

 _Don't let her be dead._

Oak looked like he wanted to say something, but nodded understandingly and squeezed his shoulder.

* * *

Gary was, surprisingly, subdued and quiet. He helped Ash unpack and left out the customary insults and "Smell ya later!"s and even didn't say anything when he saw Ash crying once. It was almost like when they were smaller and still best friends, though the enormity of Ash's grief automatically made any explorations of the relationship awkward.

They also avoided the topic of his late mother like the plague, which simultaneously disturbed and relieved him. On one hand, it was like his mother had never existed, and he didn't want that. His mother was too much of a presence to go unignored, even in death. She'd been his sun, his source of life, his constant friend and mentor. Ripping her out of his life by the root like that only left a ragged hole in her wake, one that nothing seemed to fill.

As the days dragged by, he began to crumble apart. He was tired all the time, and unmotivated. He slept throughout the day in irregular intervals. Sleep was nice because he didn't dream at all and didn't have to think and remember and hold himself together and muster up a smile. Shutting himself in Oak's spare bedroom bought him a level of isolation that he had never sought before. Oak tried to pull him out by offering to share his discoveries, or show off his old Pokemon team, but even then Ash could barely stay downstairs for an hour at most without fleeing.

The much-enthused day for new Pokemon trainers was pushed back several months while the extensive damage to the lab and surrounding houses was repaired. Nobody complained. An event of such horrible magnitude had never soiled the town's reputation before, and no one was prepared to deal with it. It was as though the appalling terroristic act had sullied the town's very foundations, and an invisible cloud seemed to hang low over the tops of the buildings every day. Police cars slipped into the town constantly, their tires carving deep ruts in the dirt path. A few officers tried to get a statement from Ash, but Oak turned them away with respectful but firm negative. Ash watched them plod back to their car from the upstairs window.

Ash finished his meals dutifully under the watchful eye of Professor Oak and his aides. He felt too soul-sick to argue or turn them away. The food might as well have been coals in his mouth for all the appeal it held, but he choked it down somehow. Gary made sure to tempt him with snacks every hour, but Ash politely denied the offering whenever he could. He wasn't trying to starve himself, he just had no appetite, and no patience for the act of eating.

As the weeks after the incident stretched on, Gary began to flip-flop between his cocky and crass personality, and his suddenly helpful, understanding side. Sometimes he made a cutting remark and then cringed, as though waiting for Ash to throw himself out of the window. Other times, his overtures of companionship and aid were so overpowering that Ash finally demanded to be left alone, at least for a little while.

After the three month mark, Oak brought in a therapist.

Her name was Mary, and she was very sweet and kind and soft-spoken, just like his mother. She had also once been a trainer in her youth (she was now 62), and when Ash showed the slightest bit of interest in the information, brought in her old Espeon. Espeon was the most exotic and intelligent Pokemon Ash had seen yet. She liked to curl up on Ash's lap and let him stroke down her velvety spine while she dozed.

Oftentimes, they just talked about whatever–Ash's favorite Pokemon (undecided), his favorite food, what he liked to do in his free time, his friends, his goals. When Ash talked about them, he felt hollow.

"I feel like they're not mine anymore," he confessed. Espeon stretched and purred in his arms, sending out a pulse of soothing emotions. He was grateful, as it allowed him to speak without his throat closing up. "Like they belong to somebody else. I'm not sure how they fit me after–you know. I don't find joy in them anymore." He looked away immediately after finishing. Maintaining eye contact was difficult these days. He felt like people could see the sorrow written plainly on his face. It made him feel uncomfortable and exposed.

"You don't find joy in them anymore, or you don't find joy in the thought of them anymore?" Mary asked, hands folded primly in her lap.

Ash shrugged. "Both, I guess." He scratched at the base of the jewel embedded in Espeon's forehead. The psy Pokemon rippled her large ears in contentment at the petting.

She arched an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Come on, Ash, when's the last time you created your own custom Pokemon team? Watched Champion Lance battle on television? Played outside with Gary?"

Ash shrugged again, feeling defensive. "I don't want to do that stuff anymore. It feels pointless."

Mary leaned back in her chair with a tired sigh as her old bones creaked. "When I was six years old, my father took me to the local pool to teach me how to swim. I didn't want to. I was scared of the water. But after I learned, I realized I loved it. I can still probably swim laps around you young Magikarps," she finished with a wheezy cackle. Ash couldn't help his grin at the mental image.

"What you need, is a goal. I want you to think of what you want out of your life, be it a Pokemon trainer or something else. When our next session rolls around, you share with me those things, okay?"

"Okay," Ash agreed. Espeon lightly leapt down from his lap and twined around Mary's heels as she stood up with him and patted his shoulder with a wrinkly hand. He didn't mind the touches so much anymore, as he could recognize them as expressions of earnest goodwill, instead of simpering affectations.

That night at dinner, Professor Oak set down his fork and knife and cleared his throat. "So, Ash," he started awkwardly, "how are you feeling?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Ash saw Gary wince and smack his forehead.

Chasing a green bean with his utensil, Ash shrugged glumly and opened his mouth to offer a lame monosyllabic reply, but the words caught in his throat. He crooked a brow, staring unseeingly at his plate.

 _How was he?_

Mary's words came flashing back to him. _What you need, is a goal._

 _Direction._

 _Purpose._

He looked up. Some of his inner confusion must have showed on his face, because Professor Oak smiled encouragingly and leaned forward.

"I–I think I'm–I need something to do," he said slowly, figuring out how to phrase it. "With my life now. I don't know what I want anymore. I need to find that out."

"Well," Oak answered as he crossed his arms and smiled wider. Gary was glancing suspiciously between the two of them, as though waiting for someone to start screaming. "My colleague, Professor Elm, sent me a clutch of Eggs to examine this morning. Would you like to help me catalogue them?"

Ash said yes.

* * *

He thought about it that night, and the next day, and the next. What did he want out of his life? It almost seemed ludicrous to think that far ahead. He'd taken to minimizing his life into mere baby steps, one drudging day at a time, hour by hour. To project himself an idea of a future in the next few years seemed vastly incapable, almost as surreal as his life before the raid. It was difficult to envision himself ever rising out of this dark pit he'd fallen into.

The answer came to him almost a week later, as he lay in his new bed staring upwards at a ceiling that still didn't quite register as home, panting and sweaty from a run of grisly dreams. Sometimes he had nightmares where he met faceless goons in black dragging his mother away. A recurring theme in his dreams was a crushing sense of helplessness. He'd run and run but a fire would relentlessly pursue him, devouring everything in its path, and just when the flames overtook him, he'd wake up with a scream on his lips.

He wanted revenge. The rage hadn't dulled one bit. It had coalesced in his chest, a solid weight, and he felt its ache beating at his ribcage every time he took a deep breath. Sometimes it was blinding, hot and agitated. Usually it was a seething burn, pressurized into a black diamond of hatred that he kept safe and nestled next to his heart.

But such a goal was very broad and unspecific, and even Ash could admit that it would lead him down a dark and mentally-ill path. Mary and he had tentatively discussed such desires, and he knew the facts of reality, however difficult they were to swallow; he was ten years old (almost 11 now, how strange) and inexperienced in virtually everything. Meanwhile, the Pokemon League, powerful adults and Pokemon, had stepped up their focus on the activities of criminal organizations. For now, he would leave it to them. Maybe revisit it when he was old enough.

So he simplified his goals a little.

He wanted to be strong.

Strong enough that no one would ever again hurt the ones he loved and cared about. Strong enough for himself and other people, strong for the weak, brave for the timid, determined for the unsure. Taking the gym challenge would be a good way to gain power and test his skills. If he was able to beat the gym leaders, and the Pokemon league and maybe even the Champion, then surely no one would ever be able to so much as lay a finger on him again. He would be the strongest, best trainer in the world.

To do that, he needed Pokemon.

He re-applied for his trainer's license a month later.

* * *

 **AN: If you hate Ash receiving a different starter, hit that nice little back button now. Sweet biscuits, I personally can't stand Pikachu.**


	2. A Diverted Path

**AN: I debated on Ash's starter for a very long time. For hopefully obvious reasons, I avoided any fire types. I also found it fitting to perhaps choose a starter that would steady his personality and act as a sturdy shoulder to lean on. If you disagree with my choice, well, sorry, but you can't please everyone, and it's my AU anyway, haha.**

 **ALSO! I added some new scenes into last chapter and cleaned it up a bit. This chapter will make a bit more sense if you go back and sweep over that chapter, though I don't think it's completely necessary.**

* * *

"You _what?!"_ Oak barked, incredulous. The Egg in his hands wobbled and he almost dropped it on his foot, catching it in a flurry of limbs at the very last moment.

"I re-applied for my license," Ash repeated slowly, peering closer at the Egg to determine if it had suffered any damage due to its impromptu tumble. Oak's face quickly underwent a ripple of emotions–anger, frustration, fear, and then worry, all in a matter of seconds. At last, he heaved a gruff sigh and deposited his precious burden on a heated plush cushion, its oblong end settled securely in an indent in the center.

They were standing by the Egg incubators, performing a daily checklist of their conditions, when Ash had nonchalantly confessed his actions taken the day before.

Now, the Professor mopped his face with his handkerchief and sat down on his lab chair with a weary grunt. "I don't know, Ash," he started uneasily. "Don't you think it might be a little too… soon?"

Ash felt his metaphorical hackles rise and pushed them down with difficulty. The sympathy and compassion had been welcome in the beginning weeks following the incident, but now such prevalent use of caution around him was almost too much. A flitting eye and a nervous smile only harshly reminded him of his mother's death, of just why people felt the need to act in such a way around him.

" _Gary_ got his Pokemon and left a week ago," Ash pointed out, putting forth effort to keep his tone level and serious. "And I didn't see you holding him back."

Oak's eyes flicked up to meet his. Suddenly, the fluorescent lighting of the room seemed to illuminate every silver strand in his hair and deepen the lines in his face. A gloomy dullness drew over the Professor's expression like a curtain over a window.

"It's different and you know it," he said, his tone booking no argument. Seeing the Professor's less stalwart side, the aspect of the esteemed Pokemon Researcher that felt pain and sadness, only served to irritate Ash further. What did the Professor have to be sad about? Sure, he and Delia had been good friends and all, but it wasn't like he lost _his_ mother. It wasn't like Gary had died in the raid or something.

"This is what I want," Ash pleaded, his tone cajoling. "You and everyone else say I need to heal, that I need to do something to–to get my mind off it. This is what I want to do! This is my way to _heal!"_

The Professor swiped his palm over his face again, scrubbing away the tired demeanor. A harder glint stiffened his brow; he looked up at Ash with quiet fortitude.

"Working yourself to the point of exhaustion so that you don't dwell on it is not healing," the Professor told him, "and I fear you would do just that if I let you go now."

"How would you know?" Ash protested angrily. His frustration was building as the conversation spun out of his control. Oak's decision could be read plainly on his face in the grim set of his mouth. Ash found himself experiencing the same red tide of helplessness that had consumed his every waking moment all those months ago.

"Aren't you doing it now?" Oak gestured with his arms, referencing the little miniature lab attached to the back of his house where they were currently arguing. "Helping me with every little project, reading all the Pokemon books I have, tending to the Eggs? You're in denial!"

"Denial?" Ash spluttered. He and Mary had gone over the stages of grief. He knew he wasn't in denial. He wasn't that bad. Right? "Are you serious? Maybe I'm just trying to learn everything I can to be a good trainer!" He paced in a circle, his fists trembling. "I don't understand. I don't get you–you and everybody else got upset when I stayed in the–in my room all the time, and didn't eat, and now you're upset when I'm trying to actually move on?!"

"This isn't moving on." Now Oak was tightly controlling his voice as well. "This is trying to breeze past the grief and trauma and compartmentalize it! I know these emotions hurt, and I know it's difficult, but you need to face them now, before they cause you serious problems down the road."

"Do you want me to be depressed?" Ash bit out scathingly.

 _"Of course not!"_ Oak snapped. Ash's eyes widened slightly at the perceptible anger in his tone. Seeing his expression, Oak halted abruptly, taking a moment to recollect himself. "Of course not," softly this time, "but I want you to have time to recover properly."

Ash was wrecked, his anger melting into weak sorrow. "Don't you see? All I have is time. Time to walk past my empty house every day, past your rebuilt lab, past the damaged houses and the condolences from strangers I barely know! I'm so sick of it! How can I heal when it's constantly in my face? Everywhere I look, something is telling me, 'Your mom is dead!'" His voice cracked, and he stopped himself short, Arceus forbid any tears well up if he continued.

His desperate tirade seemed to hang, crystalline, in the delicate atmosphere, like one wrong move from either of them would shatter it.

"You've been so strong these past few months," Oak conceded after the intensity has lessened somewhat, "and I am truly grateful for that." He smiled humorlessly and shook his head self-deprecatingly. "Who knows? Maybe this is my way of dealing with it. Delia and I were always close, and you're practically like a nephew to me. I just can't bear the thought of you getting hurt anymore than you already have."

Downtrodden, Ash felt his his shoulders slump. He struggled to tamp down his emotions. His eyes felt hot, though they had managed somehow to remain dry. It seemed Oak wouldn't let him leave after all. He could almost feel himself falling apart again.

"But…"

His neck jerked upwards, his breath freezing in his chest.

"I can understand the points you made," Oak admitted. His hands began to fiddle unconsciously with a spare Pokeball on his construction bench, as though seeking to divert his attention from the difficult topic. "So I will talk it over with Mary, and if she gives you the go-ahead, we'll see about finalizing the details and getting you your license."

A blinding smile stretched Ash's cheeks so much that it hurt. He leaped forward and crushed his arms around Oak's middle, wordless in his joy but seeking to express his gratitude all the same. Oak laughed softly, expelling all the tension that had been building, and patted him solidly on the back.

"I do care, you know," he added lowly as he mussed up Ash's wild black hair. "I'm trying my best to be here for you in every way I can."

His throat was tight again. Ash swallowed and nodded, not trusting himself to speak through the sudden gout of shame that burned through him. It was true; even Ash had noticed how Oak had taken on less projects and conferences in the months since his mother passed away in order to be closer to home, and never once had Oak lost his patience with Ash even during his most difficult moods. And Ash had responded by lashing out unpredictably and taking the man's grace for granted.

They broke apart. "Well," Oak said jokingly, "I think that's enough serious talk for me today. My old bones can't handle this much drama. Shall we finish up here and have some supper?"

Ash dipped his head in agreement, his grin returning full-force. It was strange to feel happy again. Peace and contentment had deserted him completely, and to welcome the emotions back was nigh overwhelming.

* * *

Two weeks later, Ash stood in front of a camera, nearly vibrating with excitement.

"Calm down," Oak called out from where he observed safely out of the angle of the shot, though his tone was jovial. "You're bouncing around like a Magikarp on dry land."

With effort, Ash dimmed his megawatt smile into something more determined and serious. The cameraman raised his hand and displayed three fingers to act as the countdown.

"And, three… two… one… say, 'Abra'!"

"Abra," Ash repeated, feeling slightly silly. He heard Oak's laughter and just barely restrained a scowl. A bright flash emitted from the device and Ash blinked away the black fuzzies in his vision as the cameraman reviewed the shot.

He directed him a thumbs-up after saving the photo. "Well done! Do you like the picture?" He adjusted his equipment so that Ash could see the small screen. In the photograph, Ash stood with his arms loosely at his sides, relaxed and smiling, though his eyes contained a steelish glint. He looked older, somehow. Ash liked it.

After he had given his seal of approval, the man connected his camera to the PC and uploaded the photo into the formatting program. A few clicks of the keyboard later, and a machine stamped the photograph and necessary trainer information onto a sleek rectangle of plastic and spat it out. He extracted it from the slot with his forefinger and thumb and passed it over to Ash, who held it reverently.

"There you go, kid. Good luck on your travels!"

"Thanks," Ash said politely, his eyes riveted on the holographic overlay that marked the card as genuine. He tilted it back and forth in his palms so that it caught the light.

"Good picture," Oak remarked as he leaned over Ash's shoulder and examined it. "I remember when I got my card done. My photographer didn't tell me when she was taking the shot, so I ended up with my eyes partly closed mid-blink. A friend told me that I looked like a Snorlax. I was stuck with that ID for a long time."

Ash chuckled at the funny story and tucked the brand new ID into a pocket of his wallet with careful movements.

"Now remember," the photographer lectured, wagging his finger, "you need that card and your trainer ID number to book rooms at Pokemon Centers, and to enter tournaments of any kind. If you lose it, you can always contact our company to get a replacement, but you'll have to pay a fee. So… don't lose it, okay?"

"All right," Ash nodded to show his understanding. He already knew this, thanks to Gary's boasting and shameless flaunting of his ID before he departed, but it was always good to hear a reminder.

"Cool. You got your starter yet?" The man enquired as he began disassembling and packing away his equipment.

"Not yet. I'm getting mine today," Ash told him. The excitement came back in full force, running through his veins like electricity. He tried to portray a mature demeanor but the man saw through it and laughed regardless.

"Well, best of luck to you. My Smeargle helps me find the best angles for my shots so they generally turn out pretty good. Just shows you how much more they are than simple battling tools." He clasped hands with Ash, tipped his hat to Oak, and left, his Smeargle trotting faithfully by his side.

"Mark always takes the best pictures," Oak commented as they themselves exited the building. "I've directed new trainers to him for years. He even somehow made Gary's spiky hair seem tame for his picture!"

They arrived back at the house quickly. Oak yawned and stretched his arms as he kicked the door shut behind them. "I'm beat!" he groaned, dramatizing his tone. "Maybe I'll just take a nap for a few hours…"

"What? You said we could pick out my starter after the ID was done!" Ash protested vehemently, his eyes wide in disbelief.

Oak grinned playfully and scratched the back of his knuckles, feigning another yawn. "Hmm, I don't know…" Ash smacked his shoulder, glaring.

Oak raised his hands in defeat, hiding a smile. "Okay, okay, we'll do it now. Good grief, you youngsters are always so impatient!"

It took every cell of Ash's body to keep from breaking into a mad sprint for the lab. He followed dutifully at Oak's heels, clenching and unclenching his fists as his heart fluttered in his chest. A surreal sensation of happiness rendered him weightless. He shuddered with joy at the feeling, wishing he could grab hold of it and keep it forever, and practically floated forward.

"Now, I have quite a few types of Pokemon to offer as a starter," Oak began as he unlocked the door to his lab attachment. He had a small fenced-in pen behind his house where he allowed the Pokemon to romp on nice days, but they had to pass through the lab to reach it. Today he had released all of them into the yard so Ash could see them and make his selection. "Electric, flying, normal, fighting, water, fire, grass, and more. It's really a matter of personal preference, but remember, the Pokemon must choose to travel with you as well!"

"Got it," Ash replied, slipping through the doorway after the Professor.

"Oh, and remember–hmm?" He stopped abruptly. Ash barely saved himself from running into his back. Confused, he strained to see around the man's stout frame. Oak's attention had been arrested by something to his left. The sounds of cracking and something like crinkling paper filled the room.

"What? So soon?" Oak exclaimed, and he rushed forward, his labcoat flapping comically behind him. Ash's curiosity was piqued, and he ran as well.

Underneath the strong yellow light of the special hatching lamp, one of the Eggs had rolled out of its place in its pillow and was now wobbling energetically, heading straight for the edge of the table and a perilous drop. Ash darted forward and dove, arms outstretched, heart in his throat. Newly hatched Pokemon were notoriously fragile for the first few hours after emerging from their protective shells. In the middle of hatching, a fall like that could possibly kill it. He slid on the linoleum floor like a Seel and made it just in time–the Egg fell right into his upturned palms with surprising weight. Ash hissed in pain as it crushed his fingers but kept them curled them bracingly underneath the rapidly cracking shell.

"My goodness! Watch, Ash! This is a rare opportunity!" The Professor stooped beside him, his own enthusiasm boosted. He grinned like a child as he whipped a magnifying glass out of his pocket and held it closely to one squinted eye.

Large fragments of deceptively-thin shell bulged and cracked. The Egg itself was large and patterned with silver and black blotches, and quite warm to the touch. Ash's mouth fell open in wonder as he felt something squirming actively inside, its weight shifting over his palms.

A tiny silver limb suddenly pierced through the flimsy shell. It wiggled weakly before withdrawing. Ash glanced up at the Professor.

"Should we help it?"

"No, let it be. It must climb out by itself. This is its first act of exercising its body. Breaking the shell for it would only weaken it in the long run."

Another large fragment suddenly fell away, then another, and suddenly the whole construct collapsed into pieces. Insulating and nourishing fluid soaked Ash's hands. He wrinkled his nose but kept silent. A small silver and gray body squirmed in the debris, emitting tiny grunts that reverberated through Ash's fingers.

"Wow," the Professor exclaimed, obviously impressed. "An Aron. Quite a rare Pokemon, especially in Kanto."

"Aron?" Ash questioned, having never heard of or seen an Aron before. He flicked his fingers lightly, brushing them over the smooth wet surface of the Pokemon's skin. Its body was hard to the touch, seemingly covered in gleaming silver plates. The metal was organically warm. A strange feeling came over Ash; it was undeniably an eye-opening experience to hold such a new and vulnerable life form cupped in his very hands.

"A rock/steel type. Their final evolution is Aggron, a very powerful Pokemon… after they've had time to properly mature, of course."

"Whoa," Ash said quietly. The Aron managed to roll over from its side, finding its stubby feet and tripping over the gaps between Ash's fingers. He withdrew them with a small bit of difficulty and gingerly slipped the baby Pokemon onto the floor, standing amid the shell pieces. "What gender is it?"

They checked. The Aron squealed in discomfort.

It was a male.

The Pokemon gave a small, weak cry. The noise he made was like rocks grinding over one another, though much higher-pitched due to his infancy. He took a stumbling step forward, nearly faceplanting twice. Ash's hands hovered anxiously on either side of the tiny body, ready to catch should he fall. A plaintive note could be heard in each trembling call.

"He's hungry," Oak noted. "Aron and their line feed on metal and iron ore, which is why they sometimes cause trouble to bridges and train tracks. Here…" he stood up, searching the lab for anything expendable and metal. Ash saw a wrench perched on a nearby workbench and clambered up to his knees to grab it. He offered it silently to the small Pokemon.

"Here you go, little guy," he murmured. The Aron's piercingly blue eyes swiveled in their deep sockets and his head cocked inquisitively as he locked onto the presented metal. He seemed unsure for a moment before stretching out his stubby neck and taking hold of the instrument with steel jaws. A tiny shower of sparks skidded from his mouth as he crunched down, slicing through the metal as cleanly as a warm knife through butter. Ash laughed in amazement. The bite was swallowed easily and the Aron made quick work of the rest of the wrench. Then he craned his head back as far as he could and gave a rough, rocky sort of growl, one that Ash assumed to be a purr, the laser-like eyes now focused somewhat blearily on Ash's face. He tottered forward and affectionately bumped his head against Ash's bent kneecap. His curved head felt just as solid as steel, though Ash could feel his small limbs trembling from the exertion of breaking out of the Egg.

"Oops," Professor Oak muttered sheepishly, returning to Ash's side.

"What?" Ash asked suspiciously.

Oak laughed nervously and buried his hands in the pockets of his pristine labcoat. "Well, as I am not the foremost expert on Eggs like my colleague, Professor Elm, I may have forgotten a few details about the hatching process."

"Such as…?" Ash demanded. The Aron bumped his head against Ash's leg again and rested his dense weight atop of Ash's sneaker. His armor sparkled smoothly under the halogen hatching bulb.

"Well, baby Pokemon often imprint on the first thing to tend to them. It's why Pokemon breeders can raise Pokemon almost as easily as the hatchling's natural mother. And I suspect Aron here may have imprinted on you."

"Oh," Ash said. He couldn't think of much else to say. The situation was almost bizarre.

"If you want, I can have one of my aides take over from here. Aron will be unhappy at being parted from you, but he'll grow out of his neonatal phase soon enough."

"No," Ash protested. A sudden resolve hardened in his eyes. He trailed the backs of his fingers along Aron's smooth flank, tracing the circular dent in its side. "I want this one as my starter. If that's all right?"

"Hmm." Oak cupped his chin. "Elm said that Pokemon needed to take it easy for a few days after hatching. The stress of changing locations during a journey might be a bit much. But as long as you give him a day or two to get used to his body, I don't see why not. Though I will say that most of the starter Pokemon I've picked out for new trainers, while young, are still much more developed than such an infantile one."

Ash whooped. "Yes!" Aroused by his outcry, the Aron opened his jaws and let out a tiny, heartbreakingly adorable roar, mimicking his new trainer. Ash and Oak devolved into peals of laughter. Still chuckling, Oak eventually stood up and dusted his hands on his pants.

"Well, I guess I better go and return all the Pokemon in the pen. I'll give you two a few minutes to get accustomed to each other."

"Okay," Ash said, his attention captured by the life form wandering around his feet. Oak made his way out of the room while Ash stared inquisitively down at his Pokemon. His Pokemon. It was unbelievable to even think those words in reference to the Aron. Ash had waited for this day for so long.

Out of the blue, a flash of extreme sadness sobered his mood. What he wouldn't give to have his mother with him right now. She probably would have gushed over the hatchling like a schoolgirl. Instead, because of Team Rocket, she would never get to see him reach this milestone in his life. Would never see any of his milestones. And she'd been so excited for him, too...

He sat down heavily, his body thrumming with all kinds of emotions.

The Aron suddenly ambled over to his lap, obviously doing his best to clamber onto Ash's legs. He curled his hands underneath the Pokemon's belly and lifted, letting out a surprised grunt at the unexpected weight. He could barely lift it, even heaving with all of his might. Aron might have been small, but his body was incredibly dense and heavy. He nestled happily in Ash's lap, right up against his stomach. His little body vibrated with the continuous growly purrs. Ash smiled weakly, angry at himself for nearly losing control of his emotions and almost ruining what was supposed to have been a thoroughly joyous occasion. He rubbed the single dull spike that rose from the middle of the Pokemon's back. Aron's noise increased in volume, and Ash's smile brightened.

Oak poked his head in through the doorway. "Okay, I've put all the Pokemon back in their stalls again. I must say, some of them looked pretty disappointed to have missed their opportunity to travel with you."

Ash directed a fond smile towards the steel/rock type happily sprawled in his lap. "I'm good with this one."

"Do you want to give him a nickname?" Oak enquired, leaning over to give Aron a gentle pat of his own.

Ash considered briefly, then shrugged. "I don't really know him well enough to give him a nickname just yet. Maybe when we start our journey."

"A wise decision," Oak praised, and then snorted. "Gary barely had his Squirtle in his hands before he was shouting something about 'Geyser', or some other nonsense."

Ash thought back to Gary's Squirtle. Though Gary had left home the very next day after receiving his Pokemon, he had left it out of its Pokeball so that it could walk around and strengthen itself. It liked Ash and had a very cheerful, bubbly personality. He was almost sort of sad that Gary had picked it… it would surely lose its bright outlook in favor of a more power-hungry, arrogant nature in the future. Pokemon, especially young ones, often picked up character traits from their trainers.

He jerked out of his reflections when it occurred to him; he needed a Pokeball to contain Aron, especially since Aron was much heavier than most starter Pokemon. There was no way he could carry the Pokemon when he got tired of walking.

"I recommend that you use the next two days to bond with him and research his line," Oak advised. "Having an Aron will save you some expense in the future due to their ability to eat minerals obtained from the soil, so at least you won't be forced to stop and replenish your Pokemon food stock."

Ash grinned. Already, Aron was working wonders in his life.

"Come on, I really did mean it earlier when I offered some dinner. I'm starving." Oak held out his hand to help Ash stand. Ash sat there, unmoving.

He looked up, smiling awkwardly. Aron's soft snores resounded from Ash's lap, where he pinned his legs to the floor with his weight. "Uh, Professor? I think he fell asleep. I can't get up."

* * *

Over the next two days, Ash became immensely grateful that he had waited before dashing headfirst off into the wild.

First, he learned not to leave anything composed of metal alone near Aron. Hungry or not, the Pokemon would scarf it down if given the chance. Ash's pens, change, and jacket zipper all met their inglorious end by way of Aron digestion. Sometimes when Ash sat down to eat a meal, Aron would sit by the foot of his chair and stare enviously at his fork and spoon. He didn't seem to need to eat too much, but was certainly gluttonous and opportunistic.

Second, Ash learned (first by way of the Pokedex, and then by way of experience) that Aron's size was incredibly misleading. Aron were strong enough to flip dump trucks with a single charge. Ash fully realized this when he accidentally slept in the day after receiving his starter, and Aron, impatient with his slow start, flipped his heavy wooden bed frame and mattress with Ash still in it. An effective alarm clock, certainly, but not an experience Ash was eager to repeat any time soon.

He also made some discoveries about Aron's blossoming personality. Being so terribly young, Aron was endlessly curious about the world around him. He had to investigate each room of Oak's house numerous times before settling down to sleep. The function of objects like the television still eluded him, although it was incredibly amusing to watch Aron stare suspiciously at the television and leap back when a color or image flashed too brightly. (It lost its charm when Aron lowered his head and stiffened his body in standard preparation for a full-out charge that would certainly demolish the television and the wall behind it. It was a miracle that he listened when Ash called him off.)

Another emerging trait was territoriality. Aron was very possessive of things that he took a fancy to. There was one spectacular exception where Aron didn't consume a rather pretty metal candlestick and instead carried it back to his little blanket nest and hid it among the folds. He guarded it for a few hours before Ash could cajole him into leaving the area. Oak's Pokedex–a sort of coming-of-age gift to Ash– also reported that Aron's final evolution, Aggron, was extremely territorial. It was apparently difficult to control an Aggron, as they had to have a very healthy respect for their trainer to listen to their commands. But when they did have a powerful or experienced trainer guiding them, they were very protective and loyal. One incident had been reported where an Aggron had stopped an out-of-control semitruck in its tracks because its trainer had been in its path.

But perhaps the best thing about Aron was how he distracted Ash.

He had smiled and laughed more in one day than he had in months. He was too busy being worried about fending Aron off of defenceless doorknobs to get his thoughts stuck on his mother. She was, of course, still in his head constantly, as she had been ever since she was murdered, but now it was more of a lowkey awareness than a constant waking grapple with his mind and heart.

Realizing this only reinforced his satisfaction with his choice, and his determination. He had not forgotten his previous promises to himself. Aron and he were going to become stronger, together, and take on the gym challenge.

The morning that Ash had slated to depart, Mary and her Espeon showed up for a last goodbye.

"Hello, Samuel," she greeted cordially, with the ease of many years of friendship. He greeted her in return and stepped aside to let her see Ash and Aron.

"Oh my," she cooed in reference to Aron, "what an adorable fellow!"

It was clear that the Aron was unsure of how to take this–his chest expanded proudly at being the center of attention, but he clearly didn't seem to appreciate being called "adorable" terribly much. He butted his head gently against her leg, his customary greeting and way of investigating new things, similar to how a Totodile curiously bit everything unfamiliar to it. Still, his "gentle" bump was enough to send Mary stumbling back a step. Espeon steadied her by bracing behind her leg and leveled an irritated squint in Aron's direction, who happily ignored her.

"And strong too," Mary laughed. She reached down and patted Aron's back spike. Aron positively melted underneath the attention to his favorite scratching spot. She straightened after indulging him for a few seconds and gently touched Ash's face. "And how are you, Ash?"

He shrugged, more out of habit than actual despondency. "I'm good. Aron here has kept me busy for the past two days."

"I would imagine!" she exclaimed. "Aron and their line are difficult to raise–I'm surprised Samuel is letting you take him on as a starter!"

Samuel chuckled sheepishly. "Well, if anyone could handle it, I'd bet my lab that it would be Ash."

Ash's face warmed at the praise. He occupied himself by sinking onto his heels and taking over scratching Aron's back.

"Now, I wanted to say goodbye before you go dashing off." Espeon meowed crossly at this and Mary tacked on, "And Espeon, too."

Touched, Ash readjusted his cap and diverted his attention to a point somewhere beyond Mary's eyes. "Thank you," he offered gratefully. He paused to pick his next words more carefully. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Oak retreat a few steps into the house to give them a bit of privacy. In a more serious tone, he managed to look Mary in the eye and quietly admit, "If you hadn't helped me, I think I would still be in a very bad place. But… now, I know there's hope for the future."

He turned his attention to Espeon. "And thank you, Espeon."

The psychic Pokemon dipped her head regally. Ash felt something like a warm wave roll over his mind and a voice, feminine, spoke clearly in his mind.

 _You are welcome, Ash._

His eyes widened slightly. Espeon rarely spoke to him telepathically, choosing instead to take a passive role as Mary and he had their sessions. Ash considered it an honor that she spoke to him now.

He and Mary hugged one last time.

"You'll keep in touch, won't you?" she said. "And with Samuel, as well, I expect?"

"I'll do my best," Ash promised. "I'm not sure how often I'll be at a Pokemon Center, though."

A brief feeling of grief momentarily swept through him. Those were the promises he would have given to his mother, had she been there to see him off.

"Good," Mary approved. Her stern expression relaxed and she became more excited. "I wish you the best of luck in your journey. If you aren't Champion by two years time, I will be severely upset."

Ash laughed. "I'm not sure if I can promise that one, but I'll try."

Oak moved back into sight then, a trendy black and red bag held over one arm. "Now, you know that bags like these are quite expensive. This one here is straight from the MasterLine, a good and sturdy brand that I myself used when I started out on my travels. They utilize the same pocket dimensions as a pokeball, so don't worry about space. Normally, starting trainers have to purchase these themselves at some point, but I consider this as a gift from me to you, and a good luck for your journey. I packed it for you as well."

Ash accepted it from him and held it in awe. It was the most expensive thing he had ever touched. He and his mother were never poor, but money had never been spent willy-nilly on luxurious, top-quality items like that, either. He shrugged into the straps and buckled the front piece over his chest.

He faced both Mary and Oak, speechless in front of their smiling, expectant faces. His throat was tight again. He chuckled weakly at himself as he sought for words.

"I don't think I'll ever be able to thank either of you enough," he finally croaked honestly.

"Your well-being would be the best thank-you to give us," Mary responded, smiling fondly. Ash had never known his grandmother, but he was secretly starting to cast Mary into that role.

They exchanged their last goodbyes, and Ash turned to walk down the gravel driveway, Aron plodding dutifully by his heels. Just as he was reaching the property gate, the same mental brush from earlier came over him again.

 _I likewise wish you the best in your endeavors. But take heed–you walk the edge of a knife. The choices you make will tip you to either side, and I cannot promise one leads to happiness and peace. This I have seen._

Goosebumps rippled down his neck at the cryptic message as Espeon's soft, velvety presence left his mind as quickly as it had connected. Espeon were a species with strong precognitive awareness, occasionally gaining glimpses into the future. Many speculated that this psychic ability had manifested as a way to defend their trainers from danger. For Espeon to send him such a warning… what was in Ash's future?

Nothing but what I make of it, he answered himself, and shook away the clinging vestiges of unease. Whatever path he took, be it the pursuit of strength, or revenge, or both, he would face each decision with pride and confidence.

 _That_ was a promise.

* * *

 **AN: Aron is one of my favorite Pokemon of all time. Aggron is a monster.**

 **I'm supposed to be studying for an AP exam Friday, but instead I'm writing this for you guys, so you better appreciate it, haha. Many thanks to all who reviewed. I tried to reply to all who were logged in and had their PM's enabled.**

 **Please feel free to share your thoughts on the chapter!**


	3. Viridian

AN: Recommended songs for this chapter: "We Can Try" by Between the Trees and "Comes and Goes" by Greg Laswell.

Funny anecdote–I was researching words related to rocks and minerals for a possible nickname for Aron, and I came upon "Pyroclastic Flow". Would be the most sassy, boss Aggron ever, but I had to skip it, lol. xD And then I started coming up with parody names: "Aggy", "Rocky", "Boulder" (As in, "I like that boulder. That is a nice boulder.") "Stalactite-Might", "Forge George" (and if I had made Aron a female) "Granite Janet". If the chapter quality is worse, it's because I was laughing too much.

Happy mother's day! If anything, I hope this fic inspires you to appreciate and thank your own mother just a little more.

* * *

The simple stone gate marking Pallet Town's entrance, and the beginning of Route 1, was just coming into view when Ash's steady walk slowed to a stop. Head down, fists curled at his sides, he stared at the hard-packed dirt beneath his sneakers and willed himself to move forward. Aron trundled on, unaware, for a few more paces until he realized his trainer had stopped. He chirped in question, the sound like a stone clacking sharply against another.

Ash couldn't prevent himself from pivoting on his heel and looking back at the town that had raised him. So many memories… from where he was standing, he could see the large oak tree that grew over the brook that wound around the town's perimeter, where he and Gary had played pretend trainer and held secret "Elite Four" meetings. To his left, Mrs. Wellma's purple house stood, encompassed by humongous azalea bushes. She made the best chocolate with white-chip cookies.

And to the right, just a little–

He flinched, eyes instinctively jerking away. The motion had become reflexive in the past few months. He hadn't even glanced in that direction of town in weeks.

Aron closed his jaws gently around Ash's pant leg and tugged to capture his attention. Another grinding chirp. Ash crouched on his heels, absently stroking along Aron's back and scratching at the seams in his immaculate armor. Aron closed his eyes, basking in the sensation as Ash inhaled deeply.

He had promised to be strong, right? Easy in theory, but in actuality… he wasn't quite fearless, just yet.

He had to do this. It was only morally right. He couldn't just walk out without giving his home a proper goodbye.

Feeling faint, but oddly resolute, he began to stride back into town, his fingers clenched so tightly that the nails left crescent moons etched into his skin. The bite of pain helped distract him from dwelling on the tangled ball of pain he was willingly walking into. His feet slipped into countless tracks pounded into the dirt as he traversed the well-worn path. His teeth ground together. Every cell in his body, every miniscule molecule, rattled in unease, warning him of pain and danger and darkness.

With a weary and heavy heart, Ash arrived at the porch steps of his house.

 _His_ house, now. Strange. He had almost forgotten that it was legally bequeathed to him in name until he became of proper age to purchase or own land.

The house cast a shadow over him, slipping a cool touch across his cheeks. Curious but not really paying attention to what was going on, Aron walked happy circles around Ash's solitary feet.

Considering that it had been abandoned for months now, the home was in remarkably good condition. The grass was mowed and the plants–his mother's prized tulips–had been kept watered and fed with nutrient-rich soil. The mailbox gleamed with a fresh coat of white paint. The neighbors had obviously been keeping up with the property, paying their respects in their own way. In the face of such kindness, Ash suddenly felt guilty for ever thinking of their delicate treatment of him with scorching bitterness.

"Hey, Aron," he burst out. The Pokemon turned his attention to his trainer. "This is my old house, okay? This is where my mother had me. She didn't have time to go to the hospital, so she delivered me here, in the bathroom." His skin felt clammy, and the words rolled off his tongue quickly, as if they burned.

He began to walk the steps, trailing his fingers along the wooden railing. "I got a splinter on this when I was five," he murmured. Aron jumped up the steps after him with no problem. His legs and coordination had improved greatly in the short time since his hatching.

The front door was locked, but Ash knew where the spare key was hidden. He crouched down and shifted the Oddish-shaped flower pot placed next to the swaying bench. Underneath, a space had been hollowed out, just large enough for a keyring. He grabbed it and inserted it into the lock. His muscles locked up on him again, and he froze with his forehead rested against the door, eyes tightly shut. The surreal aspect of the situation was beginning to overwhelm him. It felt as though he would enter and find his mother sitting on the couch, asking him, _"Ash, where have you been? Your dinner's cold!"_

He felt ill.

Aron nudged his leg with a small huff.

Ash choppily released the pent-up breath and unlocked the door in a savage motion, throwing it wide open before he could lose his nerve. A smell of dust and general unlived-in-ness met his nose, like when they came back from a long vacation. The lights were off inside; as if in a daze, his hand rose and flicked the switch, bathing the living room in soft light. The air was still and stagnant. No breeze had danced through the curtains in a very long time.

Nothing had been moved or tampered with. The couch cushion still sagged on its left side, the TV remote lay adjacent to the edge of the coffee-table. Ash's spare boots and–and his mother's dainty pink slippers were entangled together in the shoe closet. Aside from the stale smell, it was as though nothing had changed. Ash had the curious sensation of walking backwards through time.

The solid tapping of Aron's feet against the lacquered wooden floor pulled him out of his dazed musings. He observed as Aron began wandering around, sniffing at the umbrella stand with innocent interest.

"This is the living room," Ash told him, taking slow steps forward. His voice was tight and thin. Aron finally seemed to realize that something was off with the situation. His azure blue eyes turned in Ash's direction and the pinprick-pupils stared confusedly at the tense canvas of his emotions. Ash contemplated faking a smile to reassure his Pokemon, but decided against it. He didn't want to lie to Aron. The little Pokemon needed to see everything that made Ash, _Ash_ –including his strengths and weaknesses, his laughter and his tears.

He pointed to a doorway cut into the left wall of the living room. "That leads to the kitchen. My mother made–" would he _ever_ get used to referencing her with a past tense? "–the best Cinnabar burgers. She always said that the recipe was passed down through the family. I never learned it."

Dear Arceus, why had he wasted so much time? Why had he ever thrown temper tantrums, why had he turned his nose up at her cooking? Why had he been so eager to leave?

He turned to the right, ascending the carpeted staircase that led to the second floor. The upper level of the house was used for two bedrooms and a second bathroom. Aron jumped up each step beside him in uncharacteristic silence, perhaps sensing the somber mood. Strong sunlight filtered through the gauzy white curtains draped over the window at the top of the staircase, throwing dappled patterns across Ash's upturned features. The undisturbed stillness of the house only seemed nightmarish to him, a gross mockery of peace. Innumerable, half-remembered scenes from his childhood were flickering through the dusty halls of his mind, twining around his ankles and weighing him down like anchors. Every foot lifting and creaking on each step was a battle in itself.

He crossed the short hallway and examined the door to his bedroom. A faded, drooping Charizard picture peeled away from the surface of the wood. "Future Champion's Room" was spelled in blocky, colorful stickers. He remembered applying them with his mother one summer evening.

"This was my room," he muttered to Aron, pushing it open with one hand. He let Aron observe while he lingered in the doorjamb. With Aron's lack of age, Ash wasn't sure if any of what he was saying was being understood at all, but he felt the need to break the terrible quiet.

At last, he roused himself and slowly, suffused by cold dread and grief, turned and stared at the door directly opposite his. "Mommy's Room," pink stickers spelled, arching over a child's crayon drawing of doorknob was icy-cold in his palm. He opened it slowly.

Her pajamas were laid out on the made bed. She must have been planning on going to sleep straight away after assisting Oak in the lab.

His vision was hot and blurry. He could feel Aron's presence beside his feet. "This is–" his words stuck painfully in his throat. He coughed and bravely tried again. "This was my mother's room. Her name was Delia. She was the kindest person I've ever known." His voice was oddly loud in the small room, bouncing around the walls and cracking the silence.

He managed four steps into the room before collapsing to his knees. His head was almost spinning with memories, wonderful and awful all at once. He patted the carpet in front of him wordlessly. Aron, his silver head tilted curiously, obediently sat on his hindlegs in front of Ash's hunched profile.

"Six months ago, she stayed late to help Professor Oak–you know him–in his lab with some stuff. While she was there, a criminal group called Team Rocket showed up and stole a bunch of things." He separated himself from his body, listening detachedly to the words falling out of his mouth. It was the only way he would be able to relate the story to the attentive Aron without breaking apart. "And then they left. But they blew up the lab and it caught on fire, really bad. And my mom was trapped inside. She died." His voice chilled to icy levels, ruthless and seething with helpless rage. "Team Rocket murdered her, for no reason. She didn't pose a threat. She wasn't a Pokemon trainer anymore. But they took her life, in an awful way."

Aron's blue eyes were bright with incomprehension. Ash didn't expect him to understand fully. Aron barely even knew what death was, let alone murder. But he obviously picked up on the mournful, broken tone,and his eye sockets narrowed in perplexed sadness.

"So that's why I want to become strong. So that nothing like that ever happens again. And someday, when I'm strong enough, I'm going to bring Team Rocket crashing to the ground, and they'll never hurt anyone _ever_ again."

He raised his eyes. "I thought it was only right to tell you about my past. You and I should be familiar with each other, so that we can grow together. I don't want you committing to a trainer who barely invests himself in his Pokemon." Twisting to his side, he unzipped his new bag and rummaged around for a second before pulling out an unused Pokeball. He tapped it once to prime it.

He stretched his free hand out, fingers splayed, and asked quietly, "Will you stay with me?"

Azure eyes twinkled determinedly. Aron pushed his blunt face into Ash's palm, grunting once. Ash smiled. His tears finally ran over, streaking down his face. The atmosphere of Delia Ketchum's bedroom was supercharged with powerful emotions–grief, happiness, yearning, friendship, threads that tightly wove together around boy and Pokemon. Ash's skin tingled like he'd been shocked.

He managed, "Thank you, so much."

He gently touched the Pokeball to Aron's forehead. The readied capsule device immediately sprang apart and Aron's body dissolved into a mass of red particles that were quickly sucked inside. The ball rocked in his palm once, twice, three times, then clicked.

Ash cradled the Pokeball in his lap, head bowed, trembling violently. He allowed himself another tear to fall in honor of her, in honor of her love and life, before pushing himself to his feet.

A box caught his eye, tucked in the corner of his room. It was small, taped up, and cardboard, clearly out of place among the comfortable furnishings. He crossed the room and tore it open. It was filled with sealed ziploc baggies. Evidence. His mother's belongings that had escaped mutilation in the fire. The simple band of steel, and the trainer ID. Underneath those items, someone had tucked an unopened, colored envelope. It was addressed to him in his mother's hand. A snippet of memory rose to the surface of Ash's mind–he remembered his mother sitting at their kitchen table, writing out something on this same exact blue-tinted envelope. He hadn't cared at the time–she was always sending out thank-you notes and get well cards. Now, he realized, she had been writing something personally for him.

Mesmerized, Ash moved as though under water. He opened both bags and removed their contents. The bracelet slipped easily over his wrist, cool on his skin. He turned his mother's old ID card over and over in his palm, brushing the pad of his thumb over her smiling, cheerful face. Limbs operating on their own, he found himself bringing out his wallet and tucking her ID snugly behind his. Finally, he took the letter and folded it neatly, edging it neatly in the pocket of the wallet for holding bills. It didn't seem right to read it just yet.

He didn't feel as though "he had a piece of her" with him. He didn't feel like she was smiling down on him. But he felt that he had honored her, somehow. He would keep these items to ensure his convictions stayed strong, and that his memories of his mother remained alive.

He left the house with damp eyes and a fiery determination.

* * *

Ash could have navigated the beginning portion of Route 1 in his sleep.

He and his mother had explored it often enough during their occasional trips to Viridian City. For an hour or so, he walked unmolested, Aron's Pokeball clipped securely on his belt. The small weight on his waist wasn't familiar just yet–he was conscious of it shifting over his hip with every step he took.

The sky was a spotless, sun-burned blue, golden light drenching every happy plant and beating down on the back of his neck. The road eventually changed from maintained pavement to a narrow but well-worn dirt path. It made sense, as Pallet Town was the smallest town in the Kanto Region. There wasn't too much traffic leading to and from the tiny population of humans and Pokemon. Small Pokemon rustled in the tall grass thickets, and a flock of Pidgeys occasionally darted by overhead. Ash felt no urge to catch them just yet, or any other Pokemon just yet. There was no tug in his gut, no change of pace in his heartbeat. Unbothered, he set himself at a steady pace and focused on enjoying the environment around him.

He hoped to reach Viridian City by the end of the day. Route 1 was short and winding and led straight to Viridian, where he could find a Pokemon Center and rest for the night. After that was Viridian Forest, a massive sprawl of wild woodland that had been regionally recognized as a Kanto landmark. Route 2 was the main exit out of the forest, and was significantly longer than its counterpart, serving as a direct road north, straight into Pewter City. Pewter was where the first gym was located and where Ash would be going up against Brock, the rock-type trainer.

After a while, he released Aron and took a short break. The young creature seemed pleased to have an opportunity to stretch his short legs. Ash unwrapped one of the high-nutrient granola bars and drank half of his refillable water bottle while keeping an eye on his Pokemon. Though Aron were well-known for their formidable defense, he didn't want Aron poking his nose somewhere that would get him into trouble.

A thought occurred to him. He sighed in exasperation with himself and whistled, calling Aron's attention. He pulled out his Pokedex and powered on the slim device, selecting the scanning option.

"Hold still, Aron," he called, lining up the projected grid simulator for the scanner. Red light washed over the Pokemon and the device buffered for a moment as it processed data.

According to the Pokedex, his Aron knew the moves Tackle, Harden, Mud-slap, and Headbutt. Headbutt and Tackle were good physical attacking moves, and would deal significant damage when coupled with Aron's steel body and immense strength. Mud-slap had a little bit more range and versatility. A decent shot of mud to an opponent's eyes would blind them or create slippery footing in an arena. Ash wasn't sure if Aron would really need to use Harden too much, as his defense was already commendable.

Aron snuffled around a patch of grass a few feet away from where Ash was relaxing. He dug his the edge of his curved head into the earth and upturned it, tossing back the layer of soil and dirt. With surprising efficiency, he managed to bore a hole down into the soft ground until Ash could barely see his back-spike waving back and forth over the tops of the grass. Cracking and crunching noises soon filled the air. Assuming Aron was having himself an evening snack, Ash leaned back and draped a hand over his eyes, blocking out the sun.

After a little while, he sat up abruptly. "Aron!"

The Pokemon's head jerked up, comically smeared with dirt and clumps of severed grass. Ash's face morphed into a grin.

"Would you like a nickname?"

Aron musingly rubbed his head against a tall bundle of grass fronds, polishing his steel cheek. After a second, he bobbed his head and clicked his jaw in affirmation.

"Okay, how about… Jet? For the darker parts of your armor?" Aron spat out a crushed flower bud distastefully. Ash rubbed his chin, thinking hard. "Crag? Shield?" He began listing names, watching carefully for a positive reaction. He'd been thinking about nicknames ever since receiving him. "Tremor? Quake?" No reaction. "Tyrant? Titan?" Flattered at this, Aron puffed out his chest, but ultimately did not give his seal of approval.

"Atlas" was also denied, as well as "Gaius".

"You have to be the most picky Pokemon ever," Ash despaired. At this point Aron was going to end up with something like "Rock".

At last, he tried, "How about Tank?"

The Aron performed a surprisingly acrobatic leap and twist, his eyes scrunching in delight. Ash sat up quickly, disbelieving.

"Really? Tank? You like it?"

The Pokemon cried enthusiastically, bracing his four limbs in the dirt and throwing out his chest pridefully. Ash laughed at the sight. With Aron's impressive set of sturdy steel armor and his notable strength, calling him "Tank" was by all means not an exaggeration. He'd fill out the size aspect of the name in his later evolutions.

"Tank it is, then." The newly christened Pokemon bounded over to him, pushing his face into Ash's leg and shivering in content. Mutually pleased, Ash scratched underneath Tank's eye socket, another spot he had learned that the Aron liked. Tank practically collapsed in happiness.

After Ash had indulged his Pokemon for a minute or two, he clapped the dust from his palms and packed up his trash. "Would you like to walk with me, or return to your Pokeball?" he asked. Tank huffed and stubbornly set out on the path, head lowered in determination. Ash smiled. He was glad Tank had decided to remain outside. He enjoyed the company and was sure that the Pokemon was further strengthening himself with the exercise.

Eventually, however, the monotony of walking became too much. On a whim, Ash called out, "All right, Tank, use Harden!"

The Pokemon directed him a questioning look, but performed the move anyway. His body stiffened and his muscles locked together. The steel armor gleamed in the sun. Ash clapped encouragingly. "Good job! Follow it up with a Mud-slap!"

He realized his mistake a split second too late.

Tank's azure irises glittered with innocent delight. He splayed his jaws and a small sphere of white, latent energy materialized in his opened mouth. He reared on his back legs and snapped his head forward, throwing the orb directly at the area in front of Ash's feet. Where it connected, the soil instantly liquefied and splattered wetly over Ash's entire body, caking especially over his jacket and jeans. He spluttered, disgustedly wiping away the globs that had splashed over his eyelids.

"Not at me!" He shouted, torn between laughing his head off and feeling cross. Tank's steel plates grated together and his mouth gaped open, his unique form of laughter. Huffing, Ash cleared away the mud as best as he could from his face and clothing, reluctantly accepting that there was nothing to be done but wash the outfit when they got to the Pokemon Center in Viridian.

He took a deep, stabilizing breath. "Okay, then. Let's try out your Tackle… _on that tree_." he added sternly, noting Tank's perky expression. The Aron broke into a loping run. His speed wasn't spectacular, which needed brushing up before they challenged Brock, but his posture was good and his stride strong. He connected with the trunk of the selected tree with a booming impact. Ash felt the ground briefly vibrate through the soles of his shoes. The tree shuddered violently and a storm of leaves fluttered loose.

"That was good, Tank! You have great strength, but you need better speed, or else the Pokemon will simply leap out of the way. Let me see your Headbutt."

Tank dropped into a lower, more compact stance, and stretched his neck out, presenting his downturned face like a battering ram. Ash nodded in approval.

"These are the moves you know right now and that we'll be battling with in the near future. I want you to practice these as much as you can, all right? We'll work out some strategies when we get to Viridian, but for now we'll focus on getting the moves just right." Granted, they weren't terribly complicated, but practice made perfect, after all.

The sun was low in the sky when they finally arrived at Viridian. Ash felt hot and sweaty, and his feet ached from the amount of walking they had done. He hadn't built up any of his own resilience, he humorously acknowledged. Tank had plodded on for the rest of the walk alongside Ash, not terribly fast, but he didn't seem to tire, either. His endurance was extraordinary.

Ash knew he was receiving weird looks as he slipped into Viridian's evening foot traffic, both for his filthy appearance and his rare Pokemon, but he could hardly care less. The months after his loss had taught him not to be bothered by someone else's impolite staring, though he couldn't quite douse the burn of self-consciousness.

The Pokemon Center's bright red roof was quite distinctive amidst the more tasteful, traditional houses. Ash made a beeline for it, his weary legs unconsciously picking up the pace. Images of a warm bed, food, and safe walls filled his mind. In a day's time he would be forging deep into Viridian Forest, where conditions would certainly be much rougher than the relatively spoiled life he'd had in comparison. Might as well enjoy the comforts and amenities while he still had access to them.

An elbow jostled his side sharply. He staggered into the street, nearly falling over. Turning a hot glare over his shoulder, he opened his mouth and prepared to lash out verbally at the rudeness. The two boys who had bumped into him hadn't even slowed to apologize. They were running, full-speed, down the street, heading for what seemed to be the Town Square. In fact, it seemed that almost everyone was walking in that direction. Ash barely caught a snatch of their conversation before they dashed out of hearing.

"–said Giovanni's gonna give a speech about the security reinforcements after that Rocket attack–"

His attention was hooked immediately. Giovanni? As in, Giovanni, the Ground-type trainer, the last Kanto Gym Leader, famous for his spectacularly strong Pokemon? The gym leader Ash had admired growing up, partially due to his proximity and renown?

Ash immediately set off at a run, a second wind filling his sails. This would be the first time he ever saw a gym leader's notable power in person. And coupled with the fact that Giovanni was about to publicly denounce Team Rocket? Ash felt the small, condensed diamond of hatred in his chest quiver in dark satisfaction. "Keep up, Tank!" he yelled over his shoulder. He heard Tank's grunts as he broke into a lope, following after his trainer slipping through the crowd.

The flow of the crowd led him to the center of town, where a small amphitheater engraved with various images of Pokemon dominated the space. A long microphone stood sentry in the middle of the stage. A murmur of curious voices surrounded him as more people filled the space. It seemed almost half the town had showed up.

Ash managed to worm his way through the crowd, apologizing profusely to those he bumped into. Tank trotted through the space between legs with enough ease. Eventually, Ash managed to squeeze to the very front.

With a sudden electrical buzz, the row of stage lights clamped to an iron crossbar over the theater flicked on, brightly illuminating the amphitheater. The noise of the crowd swelled in anticipation.

A man, dressed in black formal-wear, appeared onstage. He tapped the microphone twice to check its connection. Sharp feedback resonated through the speaker system, and the gathered people quieted.

The man smiled and bobbed his head. "Greetings, citizens of Viridian City. We of Viridian City Council thank you for your attendance. As many of you know, our very own gym leader, Mr. Giovanni, will be giving a speech tonight regarding the recent spike in criminal activity, specifically by the organization known as Team Rocket." He raised an arm, gesturing to the side of the stage. "If you could all give a warm welcome to our gym leader!"

A thunderous applause exploded. Ash clapped enthusiastically, eager to catch a glimpse of the somewhat reclusive figure. Tank pressed against his foot, wary of the noise level.

A tall and broad-shouldered man in a fashionable black suit emerged on stage and crossed the distance to the microphone. He walked confidently, his hands comfortably in his pockets. A stylish black fedora nearly concealed his features from view, but Ash could see that he had an angular, aristocratic face, with flinty eyes and a naturally frowning mouth. He stopped to shake the hand of the councilman before confronting the crowd. Wordlessly, he raised one arm, and the crowd instantly silenced. Ash marveled at the easy power and assuredness that lined every movement the gym leader made.

"Good evening," he said into the microphone. His voice was cool and sonorous, articulate without seeming precocious. "As many of you know, I am Giovanni, the gym leader of our fine city." He didn't seem to be reading off of any notecards. "I wish I could say this was a meeting prompted by more pleasant things, but recent negative circumstances are to blame. Three months ago, the Kanto League asked the gym leaders to each give a warning to their respective cities about the rise in criminal action as of late. This was in response to the disgraceful raid enacted by Team Rocket on the famed Professor Oak's laboratory in our neighbor, Pallet Town."

Angry murmurs from the crowd as everyone recalled the horrible news.

Ash stared down at the ground, trying to repel mental images of hungry flames, hovering helicopters, and black-suited thieves. The imagined screams of his mother. The empty casket at her funeral.

"The fire they left behind during their robbery led to fourteen severe injuries and one death, violence previously unheard of in our peaceful area. I share my grief with those who have been harmfully impacted by the activities of this group. I would also like to thank the efforts of the Pallet Fire Department and Police Department, whose timely aid certainly helped prevent the loss of many more lives."

 _Not nearly enough,_ Ash thought bitterly. His right hand moved to clasp the wrist of his left, rotating over his mother's steel band. A deep sadness formed in his heart, a familiar achy pain of loss.

"Today, I stand before you with a promise. For too long have innocent townspeople feared to walk home at night. For too long, criminal activity has been left unchallenged. From both myself, and the League, I give you a reassurance and a few words of hope. New laws are being legislated to prevent the exploitation of legal loopholes, especially those involving Pokemon abuse, theft, and stolen Trainer Identity. Your League has not, and will not, sit by idly." He raised a fist. "May we bring about a better future for every law-abiding citizen!" he finished emphatically. Ash watched in adoration. Giovanni could have been a King addressing his subjects, the way he spoke with such poise and authority. He had the composure of someone who had been born to lead.

The assembled townspeople gave an approving roar in response to Giovanni's words, stamping their feet and throwing their hats into the air. Ash removed his cap in respect and clapped as well. The thirst for vengeance had not been cooled by the man's assurances of the League taking action, but rather, the flames in his heart had been fed and inspired. Dark fantasies of tracking down the men and women responsible for the murder of his mother floated through his mind, as sweet and welcome as any lullaby.

As the town meeting drew to the end, the crowd began to break apart. A tech crew team began disassembling the speaker equipment and packing up the cables. The sun had sunk fully by now, and the sky was streaked with chevrons of starry purple and royal blue. A cool breeze drifted silently down the streets, tousling Ash's black hair.

He waited until Giovanni had descended the steps from the amphitheatre before rushing forward to intercept him, Tank faithfully matching his stride.

"Mr. Giovanni, sir," he began, extending a hand. He hoped his enthusiasm and awe didn't show on his face. The last thing he wanted was to be treated like a little kid by someone he had grown up idolizing.

Giovanni stopped and considered him. Ash felt a shudder roll down his spine at the sensation of being the object of the figure's attention. He felt like he'd been squeezed onto a slide and put under a microscope. An affable smile appeared slowly on Giovanni's face and he took Ash's hand, giving it a solemn shake. "Hello there."

"My name is Ash Ketchum," Ash started. Some of his excitement faded as he crafted his next sentence, momentarily struggling to capture his feelings and adequately put them into words. When he spoke again, his voice was suddenly quiet and tired, despite his attempt to sound otherwise. "My mother was killed in the fire by Team Rocket."

Giovanni arched a brow. "I see." He paused, examining Ash in a new light, and then said, "I'd offer you my condolences, but I think you've heard enough of those these past months for them not to mean much anymore."

Ash grinned painfully. The smile was a broken facsimile, doing very little to hide his grief. "That's correct, sir."

"Please," the gym leader tipped his hat, "call me Giovanni. You seem like a mature young boy."

Ash flushed at the praise. "I just wanted to thank you, for speaking up against Team Rocket. It–um, it means a lot. To me."

"No problem at all," Giovanni replied. His dark eyes flicked downwards, finding Tank by Ash's feet. "Ah, an Aron. Your starter, I presume?"

Ash suddenly remembered that he was covered in dirt. His blush intensified. It was a wonder Giovanni had shaken his hand at all, with him as filthy as he was. Ash, embarrassed, confirmed his assumption and Giovanni lowered himself gracefully, extending a hand.

"I'm not a rock or steel specialist," he said, slipping his hand underneath Tank's jaw, "but the ground-type shares more similarities with them than you'd think. So I know this…" he scratched at the area. Tank immediately shuddered, the dark plates protecting his belly extending somewhat in raised ridges. Ash watched in amazement. He hadn't known Tank could do that.

Giovanni rose to his feet. A shadowy, confident smirk twisted the flat line of his mouth. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Ash. I hope when we next meet, you have grown stronger. Perhaps then I can show you some other tricks I've picked up over the years about rock types."

"That would be great," Ash said, awestruck. They shook hands once more. Ash stood still, alone in the center of the city, until Giovanni's tall profile had folded into a sleek black vehicle and been driven away.

"I want to be like that someday," he said to Tank, his eyes still trained on where the car had faded into the distance and evening traffic. "Strong. Confident. No one will ever want to mess with me again."

Tank chirped in agreement, his stomach plates settling back into their usual place. A huge yawn escaped the Pokemon's mouth. Ash chuckled as Tank attempted to shake off his drowsiness. It had been a long, tiring first day of their journey. He withdrew Tank and reattached his Pokeball to his belt.

It was easier to get a room at the Pokemon Center than he had thought it would be. Services were free, funded by Conference profits, donations, and trainer income taxes. All Ash needed to do was present his trainer ID and number. He was then given a room number and key by the pink-haired "Nurse Joy", the highly popular nickname for the trained nurses who diligently worked the Pokemon Centers. He released Tank once he'd arrived at his appropriate hallway. The room was furnished with basic amenities, like a dresser, bed, and vanity mirror. Exhausted, Ash dropped his bag and kicked it beside the door. Tank wandered over to the bed, eyeing the metal frame speculatively. His neck began to stretch out, jaws parting cautiously, his large eyes watching Ash's reaction.

" _No,"_ Ash told him firmly.

Tank gave the best pout his species were capable of and trundled away.

Releasing a sigh, Ash removed his shower supplies from his bag and, with one last warning to Tank to leave the metal alone, exited his room. Bathrooms and showers in Pokemon Centers were generally semi-communal, one per hallway. This late, only a few occupants were finishing up their evening showers. Ash paid them no mind and washed quickly in his own shower stall. He towel-dried his hair when he was finished and changed into a soft shirt and a pair of shorts for sleepwear. When he returned to his room, he balled his dirty laundry into a pile he placed by the door, fully intending to make full use of the Center's washing machines tomorrow morning.

Tank had dragged the top blanket off the bed and meticulously arranged it into a nest of sorts. He lay peacefully in the center, already deeply asleep. Ash smiled fondly at the sight and internally wondered at his feelings. He had known Tank for less than a week, but already he treasured him more than anything else. Hopefully, their bond would only continue to strengthen.

He scooted quietly into bed and lay on its edge, so that his arm could dangle and rest over Tank's back. The Pokemon emitted a sleepy rumble at his touch. Grinning, Ash closed his eyes and rested. Sleep swept over him quickly.

He woke up the next morning to soft morning light creeping across his covers as the sun climbed higher in the sky. He shifted, intending to rise, and then groaned theatrically. Every muscle in his body screamed with soreness, especially his feet and calves.

Ash heard sheets rustling on the floor as Tank stirred. Clicking sounds, softened by the nest of blankets, popped methodically as the Aron stretched as well.

Ash sleepily rolled over. Tank peered upwards blearily. At that moment, both trainer and Pokemon looked similarly disgruntled. Raking a hand through his wild morning hair, Ash forced himself out of his comfortable bed and slumped into a sitting position.

"Good morning, Tank," he muttered, grinding the heel of his palm into his blurry eyes. The rock/steel type chirped in greeting, climbing to all fours and giving himself a brisk shake.

Ash took his morning shower quickly, ruefully realizing that this would be the last time he would have access to hot water for a while. He dressed himself in a new outfit and withdrew Tank, going downstairs for breakfast.

The mess hall was small, but cozy, with cheery wallpaper and little flairs of a personal touch gracing the hung pictures and furniture. A low chatter permeated the room. Not many people were up yet, which Ash was grateful for, as the breakfast line wasn't terribly long.

After he had finished eating a second helping, he signed out of the Pokemon Center and released Tank. The Aron didn't seem interested in eating, which was a relief. The last thing Ash wanted was to explain to a police officer exactly why his Pokemon had eaten a park bench.

Pokemon being outside their Pokeballs inside city limits was generally permitted, with exceptions in cases where the Pokemon was large enough to cause a disturbance, not properly tamed, or naturally presented hazards, like a Rapidash's mane of fire. Usually it was up to the trainer's discretion, but there had been cases where police officers had been forced to intervene.

Ash performed a check on his supplies before setting out on Viridian City's main exit. He hadn't yet used any of his potions, as Tank had not been in any battles, and Oak had practically spoiled him with antidotes and paralyze heals. He still had a set of spare Pokeballs for when he decided to catch another Pokemon. His clothes had been cleaned of dirt and re-packed, and he had his flint and striker for campfires, as well as a long-lasting supply of food. The pocket dimensions of the bag allowed him to minimize the net weight of all the items. Without the bag, it would have likely taken a few hefty containers to carry all of his necessary things, including his sleeping bag and towels.

Satisfied, Ash began a slow walk, wincing as his muscles accustomed themselves to a fresh round of exercise. Tank seemed unaffected by their long trek the day before. He made a game of headbutting large pebbles in his path and bouncing them again when they passed them once more.

Meanwhile, Ash was consumed in thought. He knew that they would be encountering trainers today who would be eager for a battle. Tank was still considerably young, but he had been given enough time to become familiar with the basic mechanics of his environment and fully explore his body and abilities. Besides, Aron tended to grow slowly anyway, then entered a short period as a Lairon before quickly taking on their final evolution into Aggron. Tank would be stuck as an Aron for a while, so he had plenty of time to become accustomed to his body.

"Tank," Ash asked, bending down. "Would you be comfortable battling other Pokemon today?"

Too many trainers tended to view their Pokemon as tools, or dumb pets. Ash swore to himself he would never be like that. If any decision he made impact his friend in some way, then he would surely require their input on the matter.

Tank released a rumbly growl, planting his stubby feet in the earth and clicking his steel jaw. He puffed out his chest and lidded his eyes in a condescending look, as though no Pokemon would be a good match for his might.

"I'll take that as a yes," Ash confirmed, grinning. Tank dropped the look and nudged Ash's leg. Ash nearly toppled over from the gentle "lovetap".

Ash had his first battle only twenty minutes out from Viridian. Like him, the trainer was wearing clothes suited for traveling, and a full pack slung over his shoulder. A good-sized Pidgey was perched on his shoulder. As Ash's legs ate up the distance between them, the Pidgey squawked to alert its trainer.

"Hey!" Ash called. Tank began emitting a low growl, like vibrating stones. "You up for a battle?"

The trainer turned around, eyes wide in surprise. "Oh, uh, sure!" He stroked the plumage of the bird on his shoulder. "One on one?"

Ash shrugged sheepishly. "Only have 1 Pokemon, so that will do."

It suddenly struck him that he better win this match–and all the ones in the near future. If Tank fainted, Ash would have no Pokemon to defend him should any danger arise. He quickly cut his eyes between Tank's battle-ready stance and the observing Pidgey. He had faith his Pokemon could win this.

"All right, then. Go, Pidgey!" The flying-type launched itself from the trainer's shoulder and quickly gained altitude, circling over their heads.

"Ready, Tank?" Ash inquired. The steel/rock type barked in affirmation. "Okay, then!" Ash said, raising the volume of his voice so that the other battler could hear him, "You can have the first move, since I challenged you!"

"Fine with us," the trainer answered, grinning. "Pidgey, use Sand-attack!"

The flying type performed a loop and began dropping altitude, sweeping low over the ground. Ash thought quickly. Sand-attack would irritate Tank's eyes and lower his accuracy. With Tank's majority of moves being only close combat, he needed the utmost accuracy if he wanted them to hit. Telling Tank to simply dodge the spray also wouldn't work, due to Tank's slow speed and the wide coverage of a decent Sand-attack.

"Counter with Mud-slap!" he ordered.

The Pidgey dipped enough to rake its claws against the ground and toss up a cloud of dirt and small stones, aiming directly at Tank's face. Meanwhile, the Aron had already charged the sphere of energy between his jaws and hurled it. It was fortunate that the Pidgey had sacrificed its altitude to perform the attack, or else Tank's Mud-slap would not have been able to reach it.

Tank's attack blasted through the Pidgey's, due to Mud-slap being denser than mere particles of sand and dirt. The flying-type received a shot of heavy mud directly to the face and cried out in surprise, dropping and tumbling badly across the ground.

"Pidgey! Get out of there!" the trainer ordered desperately.

"Mud-slap again!" Ash ordered. His heart was beating like a drum in his chest. Adrenalin shot through his veins, raising the hair on his arms and covering him in goosebumps. The exhilaration was phenomenal.

Tank obeyed quickly, exploding another projectile of mud over the hapless Pidgey struggling to right itself quickly. The heavy mud weighed down its wings, interfering with its ability to fly.

The trainer knew his Pidgey was grounded for the time being, which presented it at a severe disadvantage. "Gust!"

The Pidgey began to furiously beat its wings, which had obtained a slight glow as energy was sent coursing through them for reinforcement. Powerful gusts of air began to buffet Tank, who was forced to close his eyes against the battering deluge, though he didn't seem to be hardly damaged at all by the attack.

But Ash knew the trainer's real plan–using an attack like Gust would dislodge the piles of mud that clotted the Pidgey's wings and render it mobile once more.

"Tank, Headbutt! Now!"

The Aron began to charge forward to where the Pidgey was flapping frantically. The slices of air sent his way barely slowed him down. Ash internally breathed a sigh of relief. Tank had a severe type advantage over the Pidgey, whose flying-type attacks were practically useless.

"Get in the air!" the Pidgey's trainer shouted desperately, but his Pokemon couldn't respond quickly enough before Tank slammed directly into its chest, tossing it through the air with a flick of the head. The Pidgey struggled to rise again, but collapsed after a moment of trembling defiance. Tank growled again and turned, sending Ash a victorious, smug look.

The trainer recalled his Pokemon, obviously disappointed. "Here," he said glumly, and stretched out a hand. A thin clump of Pokedollars were clutched in his palm. Ash accepted his winnings somewhat awkwardly, caught between feeling slightly bad for the defeated trainer and ecstatic over his first victory.

The trainer began heading back to Viridian for what Ash assumed to be a visit to the Pokemon Center.

As soon as the dejected figure had disappeared from sight, Ash fell to his knees and threw his arms open. "You were awesome!" he yelled energetically, smiling so widely that his cheeks hurt. Tank practically pranced into his arms and nuzzled affectionately against Ash's jacket. There wasn't even a scratch on his shining steel armor, though it had become slightly dirty.

Ash shifted so that he could count out his winnings. He hadn't received too much, but that was to be expected. The trainer had looked as novice as Ash himself, and likely had only battled a few times.

Still, though, the exaltation of victory was more of a payment than anything else. He almost couldn't believe it. He was a real trainer! It was as though he had been dozing all this time and was only just waking up to the realization. Finally, he had started out on a journey that would undoubtedly change his life… and so far, he was doing pretty good. (Granted, it had only been two days, but he wasn't going to quarrel over numbers.)

As the afternoon strengthened, Ash encountered several other trainers and won all of his matches. There really wasn't much chance of him losing. All of the trainers he encountered were similarly new and inexperienced, using Pokemon like Pidgeys, Rattatas, and an assortment of weak bug-types like Caterpie and Weedle. Tank's natural defense left him practically impenetrable. Tackle attacks bounced off his body. Scratch couldn't even leave a mark. All the while, Tank was growing in experience with every battle, learning the rhythm and flow of fighting just the same as Ash. He learned to conserve movement, allowing his armor to take physical attacks without trouble before retaliating with a devastating Headbutt or Tackle when his opponent came too close.

Ash also made another important discovery–Tank couldn't be poisoned, as the multitude of trainers equipped with Weedles and their move Poison Sting eventually found out. The poisoned pins couldn't even penetrate his armor. According to the Pokedex, steel-types were immune to all types of poison, which lifted a weight off Ash's shoulders. He'd been worried about his Pokemon getting poisoned and ill in the midst of Viridian Forest, far away from any professional aid like a Pokemon Center.

At the end of the day, Ash had kept his winning streak and accumulated quite a bit of pocket change. They had broken through Viridian Forest's outer ring of trees just before mid-afternoon and kept to the main trail for the majority of their walk. The woodland was bursting with Pokemon, mostly bug-types and the occasional Pidgey, but Ash didn't make any efforts to catch them, though he acknowledged that he needed to bolster his team quickly. Because he only had one Pokemon, the battle would be over immediately if Tank fainted.

Twilight set in with alarming speed. Ash quickly switched his prerogative from battling to finding a suitable campsite for the night.

"All right Tank, help me look for a place to set up camp," Ash instructed. Tank looked at him curiously and plopped to his stomach right where he stood, patting with one stubby leg at the earth as if to say, _"Why not here?"_

Ash sighed. "Maybe for you, but not for me. I'm looking for a place where I can have some shelter and maybe a campfire."

Tank's entire little body heaved in one great huff of breath. With an exaggerated grunt, he climbed back to all fours and trudged forward. Ash eventually brought out his flashlight, clicking it to a low setting to help sift through the darkness. Tank didn't seem to have a problem with his vision, which was expected of a species that spent most of their time in caves or digging underground. His large blue eyes glowed luminously, an eerie but pretty cool attribute.

They eventually wandered into a large cluster of trees enclosing a ring of mostly free space. Ash was tired, dirty, and sweaty, but too exhausted to do much beyond wiping himself down and setting up his sleeping bag. Tank quickly ate a few large stones embedded in the earth and curled up next to Ash's sleeping bag.

He couldn't see much beyond the leafy branches interwoven over his head, but Ash fell asleep while searching for familiar star constellations.

He was woken by Tank's deep, rumbling growl.

It was a different pitch than he had ever heard before–deeper, rougher, and more wary. The sound jerked him right out of his sleep instantly, and he jackknifed into a sitting position, partially unzipping his sleeping bag in the process. Tank was standing a few yards away, his head lowered challengingly into Headbutt position.

"Tank?" he mumbled sleepily, looking around wildly. It was clearly the dead of night. The forest around them was silent, unnaturally so. The air had also chilled considerably. He rubbed the tops of his arms, banishing the goosebumps that had formed there. A sense of wrongness, of being watched, slid ice along his spine. He scrambled out of his sleeping bag and stood warily, doing 360's to scan their surroundings.

Tank's growl deepened, and Ash finally saw it.

A white, grinning mouth and two glowing pinpricks of eyes, stared straight at him from thirty feet up in one of the trees that overlooked their camp. A primal sort of terror intensified the dread forming in his heart. The floating face performed slow, smooth rotations until the grisly smile was upside down, then right side up, and so on and so forth.

Moving slowly, silently, Ash knelt down and unzipped his bag, never breaking eye contact with the creature watching them with a frightening level of focus. Tank began to pace back and forth, clearly unsettled. Ash turned his Pokedex on, muting the volume immediately lest it startle the creature into attacking, and set it to long-range scan mode.

Cautiously, he brought it out and discreetly angled it upwards, hoping to find out what they were facing–

The creature emitted a harsh, cackling laugh and suddenly disappeared. Tank snorted and tore warily at the ground with his front left leg. Ash waited, frozen, feeling certain the the strange Pokemon was still there in the dark.

"Tank, prepare a Mud-slap," he muttered. Though obviously just as disturbed as him, the Pokemon obeyed promptly, cradling the energy between his jaws. They waited for a minute or two. Finally, Ash slumped, suspecting that the creature had fled.

He turned, preparing to try and go back to sleep, only to encounter the same terrifying white smile hovering soundlessly only inches from his face. A yelp immediately punched the breath from his lungs and he fell back in shock. His heart stuttered in his chest. The being laughed in malignant delight, twirling and rolling backwards. This close, Ash didn't need a Pokedex to identify it. Judging by the gaseous matter swirling around a spherical, slightly more dense center, and the glowing eyes and huge mouth, the Pokemon was a Gastly.

Ash heard a warning growl from Tank and ducked immediately. A Mud-slap went soaring over his head. The ghost/poison-type cackled and dissipated its body, allowing the attack to pass harmlessly through.

Ash's heart was racing. How could he combat a ghost-type? Ground-type moves didn't affect them due to their levitation and ability to banish and summon their physical bodies at will. Normal attacks like Headbutt and Tackle would likewise sail meaninglessly through its body.

Their only advantage was Tank's immunity to poison. Gastly were infamously known for rushing their foes and enveloping them in their smog-like bodies and suffocating them to unconsciousness, or worse. Their polluted gaseous state also contained many toxins, which would leave a victim with lasting effects. Thankfully, none of this would affect Tank, but it sure as heck could affect Ash.

They were stuck.

He backed away, debating whether or not they should flee, but the Gastly had other plans. It sank into the earth with a malevolent grin, one of its eyes winking at Ash as it disappeared. He spun on his heel, searching the clearing.

"Tank–" he began, but stopped. What was the point? None of Tank's attacks would harm the creature.

Tank's growl had picked up again. He pressed against Ash's legs, herding him to the side. His head was turned to the right, as though sensing something Ash couldn't. Ash walked backwards, his brain racing. He dug his hand into his bag, hoping he would find something that would be of help. His palm bumped into an object and he pulled it out quickly, recognizing the spherical shape. A Pokeball!

But how could he catch the Gastly when it wasn't damaged in the slightest, or afflicted with any status problems? He wracked his brain, thinking hard, as Tank's continuous growl rose in pitch and he readied himself for round two.

An idea came to him then, and he prepped the Pokeball, taking a deep breath. If this didn't work, then they would have to run, as it seemed like the Gastly wasn't interested in just having a little bit of fun at their expense.

A second later, the Gastly coalesced, this time right over Tank's figure. Impressively, the steel/rock-type didn't flinch, but instead sidestepped to block the line of sight between Ash and the tongue-lolling ghost.

"Mud-slap!" Ash ordered, praying for his strategy to work. Tank obeyed after a moment of hesitation. Clearly, he knew his attack was practically useless. He hurled the sphere regardless and sent a sizeable wave of mud flying towards the giggling Pokemon.

As Ash had predicted, the Gastly carelessly stretched its body thin to form a cut-out in its middle, allowing the attack to pass through seamlessly. It pulled a face in Ash's direction and cackled.

Ash glared and threw the Pokeball. It took a moment to suck up every particle of the Pokemon's body due to it having been dismembered and spread thin. Ash was hoping that maybe encapsulating it while its body wasn't quite pulled together would hopefully make it an easy catch.

The Pokeball rocked once… twice… three times… and clicked.

Ash sat down abruptly, his breath leaving his chest in a great exhale of relief. His heartbeat began to settle slowly as the threat of danger passed. Tank trotted over to where he sprawled and crowded against his side, only now revealing how spooked he had been.

Ash stroked his back spike, not forgetting how fearlessly the little Pokemon had interjected himself between the ghost and Ash. "You were very brave, Tank," he murmured soothingly. "Thank you."

Still understandably unsettled, Ash collected Gastly's Pokeball and stuffed it far inside his pack, shakily resolving to deal with the matter in the morning, when he could think more clearly and Gastly's strength would be weakened by the sunlight.

He didn't sleep well for the rest of the night.


	4. Boulder Badge

**A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the absence. Whoever said Senior year is the easiest deserves a punch in the face.**

 **As an apology: enjoy this chapter, which clocked in at 15, 891 words. Oh yes. I'm as shocked as you are.**

 **Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!**

* * *

The next morning, Ash allowed himself to sleep late and rise slowly, treating himself to a hot and cooked breakfast when he finally deigned to crawl from his sleeproll. The scare from last night had lost some of its terror with the coming of dawn, though he was still wary about releasing the Gastly from its Pokeball. Although he had worried that Tank would still be harboring some unease, the stalwart Pokemon proved him wrong once again; instead, the little Pokemon woke up as reluctantly as usual, consumed a few granite rocks, then began wandering around the clearing as though the events of last night had never happened.

Still, though. Ash scraped his compact metal spoon along the bottom of the ready-to-eat meal bag, gathering up the last steaming drips. His mind was working far away from his body. How would he even ensure the Gastly's obedience? It wasn't as though Tank or he could punish it if things went astray. Not that he even wanted to hurt it; despite the fright it had given him, the Gastly was just behaving as was its nature.

He _could_ release it at noon, when it would be weakest, and make a break for it; or maybe he could simply donate it to a Pokemon shelter. And yet both options rubbed him the wrong way and put the sour taste of defeat in his mouth. After living in denial of his mother's death for months, he had promised himself that he would never run away from anything again. Not to mention, he doubted the shelter workers would very much appreciate having a wild and dangerous Gastly foisted into their hands.

So he was stuck with it.

Sighing, he cleared up his messes and scattered the remnants of the cooking fire.

Erring on the side of caution was generally a better idea; he would think about his options for the rest of the day and perhaps confront the Gastly tomorrow if he came up with a solution. Tank heeded Ash's beckoning whistle and trotted to his side, ready for a new day of walking.

Ash soon found that battling was an effective way of clearing his mind. When his pulse was racing, the worry of imminent failure sharp on his mind and the exhilaration of landed attacks warring for dominance, there wasn't time to stress over his predicament. Tank faithfully kept up his winning streak. His worst injury was one of slighted pride when Ash had to spend thirty minutes grooming the sticky silken threads of a Caterpie's string-shot from his armor.

Truthfully, Ash also didn't mind accumulating the Pokedollars in his wallet. He counted them out with reverence. Never before had he held so much money all at once. Because his mother had been a single parent, and the job market in Pallet wasn't exactly stellar, money had always been spent carefully. They hadn't been dirt-poor but Ash could remember a few instances of being envious of the other kids' brand-name clothes or toys.

Before leaving, Professor Oak had slipped a folded up catalogue of Pokemart items into his pack and so Ash took the time to plan his future purchases out carefully. A small footnote on the last page advertised a string of sales and coupon deals after subscribing, and Ash decided to mail off his subscription at the next Pokemart. After all, every Pokedollar mattered. Trainers could save hundreds of Pokedollars a year if they simply kept an eye out for the advertisements and special offers.

At the moment, it seemed that Potions and Paralyze Heals were marked down the most. Ash circled them with a black marker and tucked the catalogue back into his bag.

Feeling a somewhat-gentle nudge against his leg, he looked down. Tank was polishing his head on the edge of Ash's jeans. One eye was scrunched shut in pleasure, but the other was open and suspiciously fixed on Ash's pack, where Gastly's Pokeball had been stuffed last night. Ash exhaled heavily and thrummed his fingers on his thighs. He supposed the best time to confront the Gastly would be now, after he and Tank had slept and eaten and were at full-strength for the day. Meanwhile Gastly would feel weakened by the sunlight. And if worst came to worst, Ash could simply recall it. Now that Gastly had been captured, it could be recalled into the Pokeball at any time.

He crouched down and stroked the Aron's head. "Hey buddy, I'm going to release the Gastly now. If it won't listen to me, then I'll recall it. Are you okay with that?"

Tank huffed irritably at the mention of the ghost-type Pokemon, but bumped his head against Ash's shin in begrudging acceptance. The metal plates on his belly extended somewhat with a soft click.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Ash retrieved Gastly's Pokeball and thumbed the release button. Tank trotted a few steps away so that any ensuing battle would leave Ash unscathed.

He held out the Pokeball and pressed the trigger.

In a blinding flash of red light and the crackling smell of ozone Ash had come to associate with Pokeballs, the amorphous shape of Gastly quickly assembled. Tank began growling low in his throat, eyes narrowed to fierce blue slits.

For a moment, nothing happened; Gastly seemed to be facing away from them, the looser particles of its body buffeted by the slight breeze. Then, as Ash watched in fascinated disgust, one eye slowly bubbled to the top of the swirling epicenter with a loud sucking noise. It looked around, fixated on Ash, and blinked. Its other eye joined it a minute later, swimming around the gaseous matter before settling into its rightful place. The fanged smirk sprouted soon after.

"My name is Ash Ketchum," he started out strongly, in a voice as steely as the little Pokemon on guard beside him. "I caught you last night. If you want, you can be a part of my team." He hesitated for the briefest moment, wondering how much he should divulge about himself, then figured that if he expected to trust the Gastly in the future then it needed to trust him as well. Knowing someone led to trusting them. "I want to become one of the strongest trainers in the world… but I also plan to track down Team Rocket and—"

—At the mention of Team Rocket, the Gastly's eyes flashed crimson and its body ballooned in size. Multiple fangs unsheathed themselves from its jaws and a high-pitched hiss like escaping gas emitted from its gaping maw. Ash froze, unsure of what had set it off and if it was going to attack. Tank pawed the ground, equally surprised.

However, it seemed that the Gastly's anger was not directed at Ash himself. Rather, the Pokemon gnashed its teeth furiously and its large eyes glowed with nightmarish malice, but it stayed relatively in place all the same.

Ash reworked his few sentences through his mind, running through them to find out what had triggered the Pokemon. It hadn't reacted when he had extended the invitation to be a part of his team, but at the soonest mention of Team Rocket, it exploded into powerful anger. Even now the seething hatred rolling off it physically affected its aura and Ash felt slightly nauseous.

"Do you know Team Rocket?" he asked tentatively.

The Pokemon's glowing eyes snapped to his face with eerie intensity, as though it had forgotten his presence. But after a second, the Pokemon spun its head in a slow nod.

Clearly, it wasn't a positive relationship—as though those mindless thugs could have a positive relationship with any of their Pokemon.

Ash felt a small kindling of understanding form between them.

"I want to beat them," he shared quietly. "They—they took something precious from me, something I'll never get back. I want to get strong enough so that nothing like that will ever happen again."

At the mention of becoming strong the Gastly's eyes flashed in interest and its enormous tongue lolled out.

Ash held up the empty Pokeball to emphasize his point. "If you travel with me, I promise that we'll reach that goal together."

Deep in thought, the Pokemon rolled from side to side, returning to normal size. After a moment, it nodded.

Relief overwhelmed him. Now that he wasn't so worried about fending off the ghost/poison type, he could actually think of the possibilities it presented as a teammate. He pulled the Pokedex out and flicked it to the scanning option.

Gastly seemed familiar with the process and held still so that the Pokedex could get an accurate read on it.

" _Gastly, the Gas Pokemon. Gastly is largely composed of gaseous matter. When exposed to a strong wind, the gaseous body quickly dwindles away. Groups of this Pokémon cluster under the eaves of houses to escape the ravages of wind."_

After another moment of processing, the Pokedex added, _"This Pokemon is a male and knows the moves: Hypnosis, Lick, Spite, Mean Look, Curse, and Night Shade."_

Ash tucked those stats away for further thought. "Do you want to return to your Pokeball? I bet the sunlight is making you feel uncomfortable."

The Gastly flew backwards, wagging his head—or rather, his entire spherical body—from side to side. Ash frowned. "Then… do you want to stay outside?"

Again, the Gastly shook his head before turning tail and soaring away, passing through the trees as though they didn't even exist.

Shocked, Ash scooped up his backpack and began to chase. Tank, who had settled since the Gastly had likewise calmed himself, began trundling after him as fast as his stubby legs could carry him.

"Hey!" Ash called out, leaping over a fallen log. He could just make out a waving purple trail of gaseous matter darting through the forest gloom ten meters ahead of him. Had Gastly been lying? Was the Pokemon really just making a run for it? "Hold on a second!"

When he leapt off a short ridge, he landed in a nest of Caterpies. Their mouthparts wiggled in shock, and Ash apologized mindlessly before stumbling to his feet and sprinting off. Behind him, he heard a thunderous crash as Tank tripped right over the ledge and face-planted into the nest. The angry din of the Caterpies receded behind him as Ash kept running. He wasn't worried about Tank; he knew the Pokemon could handle himself against the bug types.

The Gastly stayed obnoxiously close enough that he could keep up without losing sight. After a few minutes of running, though, Ash had to halt, out of breath and sweating. He leaned against a mossy tree trunk and gasped for air.

It seemed, however, that the Gastly had reached his destination. Beckoning Ash by rolling his body backwards, he flew in tight circles above a hollow stump. Warily, Ash wiped the sweat from his forehead and walked over.

The stump was deeply hollowed out. Gastly compressed his mass and lowered into the cavity. Ash blinked and squinted to see through the purple haze of his body. Objects seemed to be lying at the basin of the hollow.

"Is this where you've been living?" he asked. The stump was positioned under the arching, leafy branches of an oak tree, thus deeply shaded. It would have been a perfect hideaway during the afternoon, when the sun was strongest.

The Gastly cackled softly in answer and lifted himself from the hollow.

Now Ash could see the objects more clearly.

A framed, dirty photograph and a very old and battered Teddiursa plush.

"What's this?" he murmured to himself, leaning forward for a closer look. The Gastly's mass rippled and he paused, silently asking for permission. When the Pokemon blinked one eye, he took that as a go-ahead and slowly lifted both items from the stump.

The photograph was smudged and the protective glass covering it was cracked in several places, but the image it held could be made out clearly enough. A young girl, obviously a trainer by the distinctive Pokeball-themed hat on her head and the special belt hung around her waist, was grinning at the camera with her tongue stuck out. The Gastly mirrored her expression beside her. Ash flipped the photo over. _May 7th, 2010,_ it read, and then, underneath that, _Almost ready to take on the first gym with Shade!_

The Teddiursa plush—a common toy for young children—had one ear stitched back on and one eye was dangling by a few threads. Though it had obviously been well-cared for, the test of time had worked upon the stitchings until stuffing poked through the little gaps.

"Were you… did you have a trainer before?" he questioned slowly, brushing away a smear of dirt with his thumb.

The Gastly gave a warbly giggle, but the noise seemed sad and hollow. The Pokemon extended a gaseous tendril and surrounded the two items, reverently lifting them into his own body so that they floated behind his semi-transparent face.

"Did Team Rocket steal you from her?" Ash asked, unsure of whether or not he should pry. There had to be a reason behind the Pokemon's sheer hatred for the criminals.

Gastly deflated, sinking so that he barely levitated over the ground. His eternally-grinning mouth rotated smoothly until it was a drooping frown instead.

Ash inhaled deeply and sat back on his heels. Well, that complicated things. He should have known something like this had happened when Gastly reacted so negatively to the simple mention of Kanto's most notorious gang. Team Rocket was deeply involved in Pokemon trafficking and seemed to hold a special affinity for dark and poison types. A Gastly, a Pokemon infamously difficult to safely capture, would have been a prize catch in the eyes of a grunt.

His eyes slid back to the girl in the picture. 2010 was nearly six years ago… where was this girl now? Somehow, he had a feeling that she was no longer alive. The Gastly ejected the picture frame from his body and stared longingly at the old image. Ash ached with sympathy. It was difficult to keep his darker thoughts from building up again as he watched the Gastly play with the Teddiursa's limbs. Those bleak months following his mother's murder… the anger inside him… the way that sometimes, at night in the hospital, he had been so sick with grief and anger that he had been made physically ill from it.

But that had been nearly a year ago. And while that rage hadn't dulled any, he had finally learned how to push the anger down so he could focus on other things.

'Revenge,' as they say, 'is a dish best served cold.'

"Will you let me hold onto these so you can go back to your Pokeball and rest?" Ash said, swinging his bag off his shoulder and opening the top flap. The Gastly lowered his face and peered suspiciously into the bag. Ash watched the Pokemon rearrange his rolled up sleeping bag until it had been pushed into a sort of nest, into which the Pokemon carefully laid his precious burdens.

Then the ghost drifted backward and allowed himself to be withdrawn into the Pokeball. Ash quickly miniaturized it and held the small red-and-white sphere in his hands introspectively. It seemed strange that just an hour or so ago he had been fearful of the ghost Pokemon's reaction to being caught. Now he was being entrusted with the most valuable possessions the Pokemon had.

A branch cracked loudly behind him; Ash spun on his heel and broke out into surprised laughter as Tank finally made an appearance. The little Pokemon was stumbling and tripping every other step, tottering to either side as the mass of silken threads that had encapsulated his body overbalanced his stride. Caterpies, weak as they were, produced infamously sticky threads, and apparently didn't appreciate their nest being barged in upon.

As covered in the silk as he was, Tank could have seamlessly blended in with a flock of Mareep.

Clipping Gastly's—or Shade's, as was the name written on the photograph—Pokeball onto his belt, Ash brought his pocketknife out and set to work sawing the distressed Aron free from his restraints.

* * *

They broke through the last fringes of Viridian Forest after another two days of hard travel.

Shade had proved to be just as invaluable as Tank—when he actually chose to follow Ash's directions. Apparently receiving the Pokemon's most precious items didn't mean Ash was yet respected as a leader. Perhaps Ash was used to being in control of a baby Pokemon like Tank, who had imprinted on him from hatching. Of course Tank would listen to Ash's orders; he was the only parental/friend figure he had really ever known.

But Shade had been trained by another person—maybe even more, if the Rocket grunt that had stolen him had bothered to give him any training. Techniques that Ash would never have thought of seemed to be commonplace strategies for the ghost type, like putting the target to sleep with Hypnosis and then terrifying the unconscious Pokemon into a frenzy with Night Shade.

Shade was also particularly vengeful towards flying types. Their access to moves like Gust made it difficult for him to hold his body together. When Ash had pitted him against a Pidgey in a battle, the ghost type had immediately used Curse, a move he had yet to unveil. At first, nothing happened except for Shade's gases growing marginally fainter. But a minute into the battle, the Pidgey seized up for no discernible reason and collapsed while Shade watched smugly.

His bloodthirst was slightly disturbing, driving home the fact that Ash knew next to nothing about controlling and training ghost-types. Fortunately, the Pokedex had access to an assortment of training books for sale, so Ash added a promising one— _Raising Ghosts; Nature vs. Nurture_ —to his digital library.

Another problem he had encountered was that Tank seemed to hate Shade on sight. Ash had hoped that the young Pokemon would be able to let go of their less-than-stellar first meeting and accept Shade as a teammate, but apparently Tank could hold quite a grudge. Whenever Ash released them at the same time, Tank stuck close to Ash's side and raised the plates on his stomach in a threatening manner.

While Tank viewed Shade as his archenemy, Shade did not return the sentiment; instead, he regarded Tank with only cool amusement. Ash had caught the Gastly pulling silly, exaggerated faces in Tank's direction more than once already. The teasing, while doing no physical harm, seemed to insult Tank's already impressive pride.

Suffice to say, Ash had firmly talked Tank down from launching an angry and ineffective Mud-slap a few times already.

All of this to say, Ash was very exhausted and operating on a short fuse when their feet finally struck against actual paved roads once again. He was certain the smell of woodsmoke from his campfires had ingrained itself into his clothes, and he was looking forward to an actual hot meal at a PokeCenter.

As they walked the short road (three and a half miles) that fed into Pewter from Viridian Forest, Ash began reviewing his strategies for Pewter City Gym once again. Tank had a type advantage over Pokemon like Geodude and Graveler… except he currently knew no Steel-type moves. According to the Pokedex, Aron could learn Metal Claw at a young age, but the fact remained that Tank was still under a year old. Hopefully Ash would somehow teach it to him before they challenged Brock.

Shade, on the other hand, had access to a godsend combination: Hypnosis and Night Shade. If Tank couldn't learn Metal Claw in time, Ash decided he would use the Gastly to fight instead. Lick could also prove useful. The move worked by the ghost Pokemon delivering a shock of otherworldly energies straight to the victim's nervous systems, administering a mild toxin as well as potentially leaving the Pokemon paralyzed.

Dusk began to set in as the surrounding geography became increasingly rugged and mountainous. Fields of half-buried boulders studied the sloping landscape. Ash eyed them speculatively. He was aware that Geodude often concealed themselves into the earth as rocks. Since Brock used one on his team, it would be good practice to fight some of the wild ones and perfect his strategies.

Shade grew perkier as the sun went down. Like Tank, his white eyes glowed brightly in the darkness. His gaseous body blended faultlessly with the shadows until it seemed that a floating face was drifting along behind Ash. Occasionally the ghost Pokemon laughed softly to himself. The first few times, the scraping sound sent a chill skittering up Ash's back, but soon enough his subconscious designated it as another one of his friends' distinctive noises, like Tank's grumbly purr.

Exhaustion made itself known in the cramps in his thighs and calves and by the ache in his feet. Strategizing could wait until tomorrow, he decided as the first twinkling lights of Pewter emerged over the crest of a hill and he began the walk to the distant red roof of the PokeCenter.

* * *

Ash was so tired that he could barely remember registering himself at the PokeCenter for the next three days when he woke up the following morning. Tank was sleeping by the side of his bed, as usual, but Shade was nowhere to be found. Ash wondered if he should be worried, then decided that Shade had probably found a shadowy spot to lurk in in order to avoid the strong shaft of sunlight piercing the curtains. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The wooden flooring was cold under his bare feet.

He yawned, stretching, and—

—something icy and cold rolled over his ankles, disturbingly akin to the feeling of slimy flesh. Ash shrieked and scrambled backwards on the bed, his heartbeat a jackhammer pace in his throat. The commotion knocked Tank right out of his deep sleep and he leapt up, a half-charged Mud-slap forming sloppily in his jaws.

Delighted cackling echoed from under the bed and Ash's fright melted into acute embarrassment. Shade slithered out from underneath the box spring a moment later, sporting a grin so wide that it curved like a crescent moon nearly right off his spherical body.

His embarrassment quickly turned to anger, and Ash opened his mouth, a dozen furious shouts ready—but then he noticed the piercingly watchful gleam in the Pokemon's eyes as he silently awaited Ash's reaction. Suddenly Ash was reminded of a scene from his childhood; taking a cookie and stuffing it into his mouth despite his mother warning him not to. He had wanted to see if he could get away with it without being punished or how severely his mother would punish him at all.

In all likelihood, Shade had been stolen from his original trainer and then probably abused by whatever Rocket grunt had him after. Though he didn't like his methods, Ash couldn't really blame the Gastly for testing the waters and working out what merited a punishment versus what didn't.

Fortunately for Shade, Ash was neither abusive nor a Rocket Grunt.

He inhaled deeply and then let the breath go.

"Please don't do that again," he said quietly. "I don't mind you sleeping under the bed, but that kind of scare is not the best thing to wake up to."

Shade went still, staring intently at Ash's face as though expecting for him to yell "Sike!" and attack. Ash let him stare to his content until Shade became satisfied with what he saw and sailed away to inspect the room. Taking that as a sign he had handled the encounter correctly, Ash looked down to where Tank was yawning and stretching out his body. He leaned down and scratched the jutting backspike. Tank's azure eyes lidded and he melted beneath the touch. Ash smiled.

"Breakfast?" he asked, and Tank perked right back up.

He mentally added Pokefood to his checklist for the PokeMart. Letting Tank's body sift through the minerals in rocks and stones seemed to work okay in the wild, but there would be instances where such resources were not immediately available. Ash needed to pick up a bag of special Pokefood for both Tank and Shade.

After indulging himself in a steaming hot shower and an equally hot breakfast, Ash felt human once again and left the PokeCenter in a fantastic mood. He had recalled Shade into his Pokeball to avoid overexposure to sunlight, but Tank plodded happily beside him.

Locals of Pewter dressed in sensible, subdued clothing. Pewter was one of the most northernmost cities in the Kanto Region, and temperatures averaged between fifty and sixty degrees Fahrenheit in the summers. Ash felt warm enough in his vest and jeans, content with the fact that he had a raincoat and a jacket in his bag in case the need arose.

Pewter City was actually rather small, certainly no bigger than the sprawling mass of Viridian. The southern half of the town was comprised mostly of a housing district. The Pokemon Gym, its architecture obtrusively modern and gleaming, acted as the heart of the city. Higher up on the mountain terrace was the National Kanto Pokemon Museum. Ash's guidebook praised it as one of Kanto's unique gems, so he slotted in some time out of his schedule to visit it after stocking up at the PokeMart.

While waiting for the cashier to return with his small list of items, Ash finished filling out the magazine subscription. The cashier accepted the envelope with a thank-you and kindly helped him load away the items into his pack. Once again, Ash was amazed at the technological advancements made by society as item after item was swallowed up without increasing the size or weight of the bag at all.

The total came out to be less than he had predicted, most likely due to the handful of clipped coupons Ash had passed over the counter. He was certain the magazine would more than pay back its sign-up fee as similar offers began rolling in.

Tank and Shade seemed happy enough with the quality of the food. Ash noticed that Tank simply scarfed his portion down at breakneck pace, while Shade surrounded the pellets with his mass. Fascinated, Ash observed as the shadows of the pellets blurred and dissolved when Shade's unique body matter stripped them of their nutrients and broke them down into usable chemicals. The gas cloud increased slightly in both intensity and density and Shade giggled to convey his satisfaction.

After Shade had finished consuming his food, Ash recalled him. Due to the highly toxic nature of the gases that made up their bodies, Gastly were often discouraged from being released in confined spaces or public areas. Ash didn't want to get kicked out of the museum just because of Shade's mischievous antics.

The trek up to the museum was surprisingly laborious due to the town's somewhat severe incline. Tank bounded up the flat, wide steps cut into the hill with surprising grace. Pride glowed warmly in Ash's chest even as he wheezed after the energetic Pokemon. Two weeks ago, Tank would have had to hobble up each stair and probably collapsed from the effort after only a few minutes. Now he could keep pace with Ash easily. The scope of his growth was already incredible.

The Museum was a sprawling, two-story structure. The entrance was built on a stone dais, shaded by a roof upheld by several elaborately-carved marble pillars. Ash flipped his Pokedex to the picture-taking mode and turned the camera around, kneeling down in order to take a picture with Tank. The steel/rock type clearly had no idea what was going on and let out a questioning chirp as Ash captured the image. In the picture, Tank's upturned face was barely in the frame because of his shortness while the top half of Ash's head had been cut off.

It was perfect.

Chuckling, Ash saved the image and went into the museum.

A blonde-haired receptionist waited at the front desk. She greeted him politely and Ash passed over the fifty Pokedollar entrance fee. The ticket was a bit pricey, but since the museum was Pewter's only tourist attraction besides the Gym, Ash supposed it was a necessary pain.

Inside of the museum, the architecture was just as regal as the outside. The yawning ceiling was covered in one massive painting—an image of what seemed to be ancient Pokemon fighting each other. Exhibits on display in glass cases were marked off by red ropes, and obsidian plaques with gold lettering were mounted everywhere to explain what was on show.

This early in the afternoon, not many tourists congested the massive room, so Ash moved freely from one exhibit to another. Several of them were intriguing, including an enormous chunk of black, reflective stone (a moon rock, according to the plaque) placed on a pedestal, as well as a few ancient fossils.

So engrossed in the tablet containing writing in a long-dead language, Ash didn't notice Tank's slow, sneaky crawl to an exhibit featuring a line of gems sparkling on a roll of velvet. The small Pokemon's attention was enraptured by the metal table of the leg. He looked left, checking to make sure his trainer wasn't paying attention, then stretched out his jaws cautiously, taunted by the shining metal…

Ash startled as a male voice laughed nearby. He turned, absorbing the situation in one second, then resisted the urge to smack himself in embarrassment.

Tank was growling crossly as he was gently nudged away from his meal by a tanned stranger.

"That's not for you, buddy," the man said, smiling in amusement. His eyes were lightly closed as he stroked a hand down the steel plate covering Tank's back. "I don't think you want to get your trainer kicked out."

Ash rushed over. "I'm sorry," he apologized, grunting as he pulled Tank's considerable weight further away from the display. "I fed him before we came, but he can be a bit of a glutton."

The man stood up and stretched. "Well, Aron can certainly eat a lot." He nudged the pouting Pokemon playfully with his foot. "You'll notice that he eats even more as his evolution approaches. They need to store enough minerals in their body to convert to the extra mass. This little guy still seems pretty young, though. And last I checked, Aron weren't native to Kanto. You from Hoenn?"

Ash shook his head. "No, I was born in Pallet Town. Tank hatched from an egg and I chose him as my starter." He paused, then realized that he hadn't introduced himself. Extending a hand to shake, he added, "My name is Ash, by the way."

The man grinned and shook his hand. His skin was dry and covered in a film of dust, but Ash didn't mind. Arceus knows how much dirt he had accumulated himself during the trek through Viridian Forest.

"Nice to meet you. My name's Brock."

The name hit him like a lightning bolt, and Ash could have smacked himself again. "You're the gym leader!" His guide book detailed the gym, but it had been on the cheaper image and lacked any pictures. Ash could list all of Brock's Pokemon but until now couldn't put a face to the name.

Bashful, the gym leader rubbed the back of his head. "Yep, that's me."

Ash was suddenly speechless. He hadn't expected to see the man until challenging him at the gym. Now that his plans had gone awry, he was at a loss for words.

"I'm going to challenge you in a few days," was all he could think to say, and he couldn't quite help the questioning lilt that twisted his statement.

Brock laughed and jammed his hands in his pockets. "Great! I'll be looking forward to it." He gestured to Tank with a nod of his head. "Is that your only Pokemon?"

Ash subconsciously brushed his fingers across Shade's Pokeball. "No, I have another. A Gastly."

Brock seemed impressed. "Wow, you've got quite the handful on you, don't you? Those Pokemon are pretty difficult to raise correctly."

Ash burned with defensive embarrassment. He knew Brock didn't mean anything by it, but he couldn't help but momentarily question his own capabilities as a trainer. It was true; raising an Aron the right way was hard enough without adding an unruly Ghost-Poison type to the mix. And Ash wasn't even a seasoned trainer yet.

He took a moment to calm himself before answering. Being sarcastic certainly wouldn't endear him to anyone, and Ash found himself actually wanting to impress Brock.

"I'd be open to any tips," he admitted. After all, Brock was a renowned Rock-type specialist. While Aron weren't native to Kanto, the fact that the gym leader recognized one on sight meant that he must have encountered it before.

Brock scratched his chin, accidentally transferring a smudge of dirt to his chin in the process. "Hmm, well I can't really help you out with the Gastly. But I do have a few tricks for Aron." He grinned. "Does your Aron know the move Metal Claw yet? I expect you'd want to get as much type-coverage as you can."

Hardly daring to believe that the man was offering what he was, Ash shook his head slowly. Would the gym leader really teach Tank the move Ash badly needed in order to challenge the gym? What did Brock gain by it?

Brock clapped a hand on his shoulder. A small cloud of dust flew up from the impact. "Well, then! Why don't you meet me at my gym this evening and I'll go over a few things with you?" He gestured sheepishly at his dusty clothing. "I was outside a little while ago training when the curator called me in to analyze a new arrival. Give me a little time to clean up and have some dinner."

Still shocked at how approachable and down-to-earth Brock was, Ash nodded mutely. Brock heartily shook his hand once more, reminded him again to meet him outside the gym, and then left.

Tank snapped out of the happy daze Brock's scratching had put him in and scrambled upright. Ash fixed him with a warning look and Tank drooped mournfully as he remembered nearly taking a hunk out of the table—something Ash had expressly forbidden.

But his crushed look bothered Ash after a few prolonged seconds, and he grudgingly petted the corner of Tank's jaw to show all was forgiven. Tank rumbled appreciatively and brightened up, preening his left foreleg as though nothing had ever happened.

Deciding that he had seen all there was to offer, Ash exited the museum. By now, it was late afternoon and the sun had passed its highest point. The warmth of the gentle rays was welcome after the purified chill of the museum.

He stopped at the Pokecenter for a late lunch and then got back on the main road that connected Viridian Forest and Pewter, wanting to check out the rocky terraces that he had observed before. The walk took twenty minutes. Ash's feet complained cantankerously, still sore from the trekking he had done through the Forest. Once the blood got flowing, however, the pain began to dull. Tank seemed unaffected by the amount of exercise they had undergone recently. Even though his hefty weight drove his feet into the loose, gravelly earth and turned every step into a yank-and-step process, he remained cheerful.

Once they had reached the series of ledges, Ash sat down on a nearby rock and caught his breath. The land before him was severely sloped downwards from this point on, barren of trees and studded copiously with rock formations. Dark v's circled far overhead, most likely Pidgeys and Pidgeottos waiting for any unlucky Rattatas to emerge from their nests.

Ash noticed several odd paths that had been carved in straight lines right down the ravine until they disappeared from sight. Vaguely, he remembered reading something about Golems' tendency to form such grooves from repeated rolling down mountainsides. Sure enough, he caught a glance of a bent and half-broken caution sign, warning of Golem paths. Ash had seen such signs before, usually on roads that cut through mountains or hills.

Luckily, Golem at this time of year migrated to the very peaks of mountains where they gorged themselves on rocks and boulders.

"Okay, buddy," Ash said, "you're going to use Headbutt on the rocks that I tell you to, okay? Some of them might turn out to be Pokemon, so be careful."

Tank chirped confusedly. Clearly the little Pokemon was wondering how rocks could be Pokemon. Ash was forcibly reminded once more of how young Tank was. Unlike naturally-born Aron, he had not grown up under the guiding influence of a mother Aggron. Thus he had never grown up in a mountainous habitat, where Pokemon like Geodude and Graveler were extremely common.

Ash couldn't wait until Tank evolved into an Aggron. They had earned the title "Kings of the Mountain" for a reason.

He was jolted from his musings where his seat jerked beneath him. Ash fell backwards and landed hard on his back. The impact punched the breath from his lungs and he scrambled away quickly.

His "seat" shook itself, sending a spray of dirt in every direction. A roar that sounded like the piercing echo of a landslide battered Ash's eardrums and he jumped to his feet.

The Graveler that Ash had unknowingly sat upon was enraged. It lumbered out of the pit where it had been sleeping and clapped its four hands together menacingly. As aggressive as it seemed to be, it moved slowly, and Ash seized his chance.

"Harden!" he commanded. Tank retracted his head slightly and stiffened his muscles, posture entirely defensive. The Graveler fell forward, smoothly tucking into a roll. It shot forward at incredible speed, aiming straight for the Pokemon that had challenged it.

"Headbutt!" Ash shouted. Graveler were able to move with shocking speed once they shifted into their preferred method of locomotion—rolling. If Tank couldn't halt that momentum in its tracks then he'd never be able to keep up.

Unflinchingly, Tank buried his back legs into the earth for support and launched himself forward with head tucked and glowing with reinforced energy. A sound like a thunderclap issued from the collision as the Graveler shot right into the attack. The momentum flung both Pokemon back, but Graveler was sent soaring for an impressive distance before bumpily landing, whereas Tank only slid a few feet. Shards of rock peppered Ash's body and he covered his face. Tank didn't seem to be hurt, so they must have chipped off from the Graveler's body.

In a bolt of clarity, Ash remembered that their bodies were composed nearly entirely of dry rock and stone, held together by sand that allowed for easier movement. If something hit them hard enough, they could shatter. Being the hardy Pokemon that they were, this didn't kill them, but did force them to retreat in order to rebuild their rock armor.

While the dazed Graveler was still getting up, Ash called out, "Mud-slap!"

Tank obeyed promptly. The wave of wet mud hit directly where Ash had wanted it to—in the rocky Pokemon's joints, where it mixed with the sand and bogged down its limbs.

"Headbutt again!"

Tank charged, domed head extended. The impact wasn't as loud as before, but it still sent the Graveler bouncing backwards and threw a cloud of dust in the air. This time, when the Pokemon staggered to its feet, there was a large crack splitting down the left side of its round body.

Ash waited, ready for the Pokemon to go on the offensive once more, but it seemed the Graveler had had enough. With an angry and pained snort, it pitched itself backwards and rolled away down the hill. Several "boulders" unfolded sleepily as it rocketed past, revealing themselves as Geodudes, and then uncaringly went back to sleep. Ash marked their positions mentally.

Tank growled, scraping a furrow into the earth with his left fore-leg. Pride oozed from his arched back and upheld head.

Ash's heart was still beating crazily, the mad adrenalin of the sudden encounter burning through his veins. That was the first Pokemon that had ever attacked them out of the blue. Suddenly, Ash realized just how powerful the beings were—when their collisions sounded like thunder and they could simply shrug off devastating wounds like paper cuts. And that truth reinforced how utterly fragile and helpless humans were in comparison. Ash could have been completely crushed by a single one of Graveler's attacks.

People died every year in Pokemon-related incidents, of course, but generally those were because of training-accidents or the human had done something to provoke the Pokemon. Rarely did Pokemon actively seek out humans to attack, and those that did were generally marked as a danger to society and either rehabilitated or put down for the safety of nearby towns.

The other Pokeball clipped to his belt wriggled once. Ash looked down in surprise, having almost forgotten about Shade. He released the gas Pokemon carefully, unsure of what he wanted.

As the red energy coalesced into the flickering form of Shade, the Pokemon's eerie grin and wide eyes appeared first. Ash jumped backwards as the ghost-type rushed him, cackling. Just when he thought he was going to accidentally inhale some of Shade's toxic gases, the Pokemon drifted away. laughing hysterically.

Ash thought about yelling, but remembered the scene from this morning and restrained himself with difficulty. The adrenalin from the fight that had just been calming down ratcheted up again uncontrollably; he couldn't help it. Humans were instinctively programmed to react with a fight-or-flight response when rushed by a lethal Pokemon.

"Hello, Shade," he spoke after taking a few seconds to relax himself. The Gastly seemed thrown off by his calm demeanor, but Ash's determination to be a better trainer than the ghost-type's prior one was only strengthened. Shade had become accustomed to certain reactions from his previous trainer—anger and abuse. When Ash didn't behave that expected way, it made his actions difficult for Shade to understand. He must have thought Ash's kindness was for some other secret, selfish motivation.

Ash wasn't sure how long it would take to break Shade of that way of thinking, but he was willing to wait.

"Did you want to train too?" he asked, figuring there was a reason the Pokemon had made it clear he wanted out of his Pokeball.

Shade dispersed his body and reformed forty feet downhill, bent curiously over one of the mounds that Ash had noticed earlier to be a Geodude. He wasn't sure how he knew that it was a Pokemon and not simply part of the landscape, but chose to watch curiously.

Giggling malignantly, Shade lowered himself until his gas cloud had absorbed the exposed part of the Geodude's body. For a long moment, nothing happened, and Ash began to wonder if Shade's attack was effective at all. But then the Geodude's buried form shifted once, then twisted again in growing discomfort.

Ash was alarmed. In the wild, Gastlys killed their prey primarily by suffocation or poisoning. While Ash understood that this process was simply the way of life, Shade certainly had enough Pokefood in Ash's bag to last weeks. There was no need for lethal force. Perhaps this was how Shade had been "trained" to act towards any enemy.

"Shade, that's enough!" He called out sharply. It was the first time his tone had been anything but neutral towards one of his Pokemon, and the surprised expression on Shade's face reflected that. He lifted himself from his helpless victim and floated sullenly away.

Meanwhile, the dazed and weakened Geodude lumbered out of its pit and wobbled, scarcely able to magnetically hold itself aloft. It limped fifty feet away from its former home and re-buried itself.

Ash was angry. He understood that Shade had been trained differently, and that Pokemon would undoubtedly get hurt in their battles, but needless violence disturbed him.

Shade's body collapsed into a gaseous trail and slithered through the air, manifesting quickly next to Ash's tense body. He was still pouting, as though Ash had unfairly torn a favorite toy from him.

"That wasn't fighting," Ash told him flatly. "That was suffocating a victim until they were unconscious—or worse. If you're going to travel with me, that kind of thing is not allowed in battles or training. Ever. Okay?"

Shade rolled his eyes.

Tank growled and stamped his foot once. A nearby rock that had been loosened by the earlier encounter with the Graveler rattled and lifted off the ground for a split second. Distracted from his lecture, Ash stared in amazement at the small display of power. Due to Aron's partial typing of rock, they were gifted with a small measure of control over the ground, but Aron hadn't yet given any signs of harnessing this potential. Even Shade appeared to be impressed before he quickly banished the expression from his face.

Ash wondered if this meant that Tank was getting close to learning Metal Claw. Thinking of the move suddenly reminded him of his earlier promise to Brock. He pulled up the clock function on the Pokedex and breathed a sigh of relief. He still had a little over an hour until his meeting time with Brock. It took twenty minutes to get back to Pewter, which left him some time to shower off the dirt and sweat and rest a little.

As the afternoon was beginning to wane, he decided to leave both Shade and Tank out of their Pokeballs, even though he was still a little upset over Shade's bloodthirsty nature. But punishing the Pokemon by isolating him wouldn't accomplish anything—or at least Ash thought so. Perhaps Shade was simply acting out of boredom. If Ash let him out more, maybe he would start to settle.

Behind him, he could hear Tank and Shade bickering. Ash sighed and stretched his arms. Looked like he had his work cut out for him to force Tank and Shade to realize they were part of the same time.

Ash had only been waiting on the steps outside the gym for ten minutes when Brock appeared. A Geodude levitated behind him, flexing its two arms proudly. Shade, who had been playing in the shadow cast by the building, floated over curiously. Tank had been sprawled at Ash's feet, crunching on a rock, but he sat up at Brock's approach.

"You ready for this?" Brock asked, his trademark friendly grin still warming his face. Ash nodded quickly and shook Brock's hand once again.

"Good," said the gym leader. "Because I'm not gonna go easy on you just cuz you're a kid."

He stepped past the young trainer and opened the gym doors. Ash quirked a brow in confusion. He'd thought Brock would take him somewhere out in the wilds, where they could privately train. But then again, the gym had been modeled to include rocky terrain and was closer to the PokeCenter in case anything went wrong.

Ash recalled Shade and took his first step into a Pokemon Gym.

He had expected for the gym to open right up into the battlefield, but instead they were greeted by a small antechamber. A bored, slightly overweight man in a nice suit with an official League brooch pinned to the lapels of his jacket was leaning against a massive grey pillar. Ash recognized him from the videos he'd seen when he was younger of televised gym battles. The man, along with his seven other brothers, were the gym guides. Their job was to occasionally referee the battles, give hints to the challenger, oversee general maintenance in the gym, and chisel the names of the victors into the statues. It was a very honored and sought-after position.

He was propped up against one of the ceremonial gym pillars—two massive hunks of marble carved in the shape of a roaring Rhydon, the Indigo League mascot. Around the lower half of the statues, hundreds of names had been carved into the marble in tiny uppercase letters. Some had been worn away by time, especially those higher on the list, but the more recent names gleamed proudly.

Ash knelt down to examine the latest recipient of the Boulder Badge.

Underneath "Caya Simmers" and "Matthew Jackson" was the name "Gary Oak".

Ash recoiled slightly in surprise.

He knew Gary had left on his journey weeks before Ash, but for some reason he hadn't really thought about what progress Gary had made. Maybe before his mother's passing, Ash would have been obsessed with it, but ever since he'd woken up to the real world, such rivalries felt exhausting and petty. Gary would rub his progress in Ash's face the next time they met, of course. Even though Gary had tried to be more patient and kind after Ash's mother was killed, he had no doubt tired of treating Ash with kid-gloves and would be back to the "smell ya later" arrogance that marked his character.

Brock noticed him looking and frowned. "Oh yeah, Gary Oak. Professor Oak's grandson. His Squirtle was strong, but his trainer's attitude needs some definite improvement. Almost didn't want to give him the badge, but he won in the end, after all…" He shook himself and the frown gave way to the smile once more. "Well, that challenger's long gone by now. Let's focus on the here and now, eh?" He snapped his fingers and called out sharply, "Ronald!"

The gym guide, who had not been bored so much as dozing, snapped to attention, throwing up a goofy salute.

"I wasn't sleeping, sir!" he said immediately. He spoke in a deafening shout. "Just merely resting my eyes, sir!"

Brock shook his head, smirking. "If you say so. Would you mind getting the battlefield floor ready? Tier 1, please."

"Yes sir, Brock, sir!" the guide said, and after a polite bow, scampered off to complete his given task. Ash suppressed a smile with difficulty. Apparently, the gym guides really did have the unique character they were renowned for.

"Ronald's a bit… eccentric, should we say," Brock explained as they made their way across the antechamber at a more leisurely pace, bypassing the secretary's desk. Ash supposed he would only have to register his visitation when he officially challenged the gym. "But he means well, and he's good enough at his duties, so I like having him on staff."

"What does Tier 1 mean?" Ash asked, remembering the phrase Brock had used.

"Ah, that." Brock absentmindedly stroked a hand over the following Geodude's head. The Pokemon closed its eyes contently. "There are different surfaces for the battlefield. Tier 1 is the most plain, with just a boulder or two on an otherwise flat rock surface. That's for new challengers like yourself. A simple terrain, to get used to the rhythm of battling, you know? Environmental manipulation will come later. Newbie Pokemon aren't strong enough to master that level of skill yet. Tie 2 is like Tier 1, but more uneven and with a greater number of boulders. And so it goes, up until Tier 5, where seismic activators can set off random miniature tremors and change the field entirely mid-fight."

That sounded incredibly intense. Ash's eyes were wide in amazement. "When do you use Tier 5?"

Brock's grin broadened and his eyes opened slightly, revealing a burning twinkle in the mocha-colored irises. "Oh, that's especially reserved for the challengers who have already beaten the gym before. You see, I have a few teams. All gym leaders do. One is the team I use to battle new trainers. The other is my serious battling team, the one I fight with when somebody comes back for a rematch after beating all the gym leaders."

The competitive shine in Brock's eyes served as a reminder that while Brock was often dismissed due to his low rank, being crowned a gym leader was nothing to laugh at. Ash would have bet all the money he had that Brock could wipe the floor with the newbie "victors" if he used the team that had carried him to the upper echelon of trainers in Kanto.

Ash's respect for him ratcheted up. It probably wasn't easy going from being regarded as one of the strongest trainers in Kanto to being dismissed as the "easiest" gym leader.

"That's awesome," he shared, certainly impressed. His desire to beat the gym challenge increased, if only so he could come back one day and challenge Brock to a no-holds barred fight.

Brock chuckled and flicked Ash's hat playfully. "Maybe if you get strong enough one day we'll have a battle on it. But for now…" he pushed open the doors leading to the gym's massive battlefield. Protected lights snapped on automatically and Ash winced at the bright glare. "Let's focus on that Aron of yours, hm?"

Ash nodded and calmed himself, reaching for the level of focus he needed when training or battling. Tank, who had been somewhat intimidated into silence by the huge room, chirped and trundled forward.

"Geodude, if you would please?" Brock gestured to the field. His Pokemon drifted forward, pounding its knuckles together once. Brock motioned for Ash to take his place at the far end of the field and walked across to his own marked-off box. "Let's have your Pokemon demonstrate the moves it knows to see how far along it is. My Geodude may be the most inexperienced member of my team, but he can certainly handle whatever you throw at him."

"Okay," Ash answered. He waited until both Pokemon had gotten into position before ordering, "All right, Tank, let's start with Harden!"

Tank's body rippled with energy as he tightened every muscle in his body as if anticipating an impact.

Brock nodded in approval. "That's good form. Harden is useful when there's an incoming attack and you have no chance of dodging. It sort of makes up for Aron's mediocre speed. You might also want to use it at the start of a battle, before either side can start firing off attacks—you'll find that Aron can weather an enormous amount of damage, but it never hurts to have some padded insurance. Next move?"

"Mud-slap on the Geodude!" Ash ordered. Tank obeyed, forming the sphere of earth energy in his mouth before hurling it downwards. It collided with the terrain hard and sent up a spray of mud. The Geodude couldn't dodge the fan in time and was coated in the heavy mixture. It grunted and began wiping the mud from its body before it could interfere with its vulnerable joints.

"Mud-slap doesn't do a lot of damage, but it serves as a nice distraction and gets in between the armor of many rock-types, which is why they hate it. And anything that impairs your opponent's vision is always nice," Brock coached. "I wouldn't rely on it too much to carry you through battles, though. In the long run it's an ineffective attack. What else?"

"Tank knows Tackle and Headbutt, but they're sort of similar. Headbutt's more powerful, though," Ash explained, giving the go-ahead to his Pokemon. Tank rushed the Geodude, who raised a craggy brow. It was clear that the Pokemon could have dodged the attack but instead chose to remain still. When they collided, a thunderous clap of sound rang through the gym and both were pushed apart forcefully.

"Your Pokemon needs better speed if he wants that attack to access all the power it's capable of," Brock chided. Ash winced but knew it was true. He had become accustomed to Tank's natural advantage against most of the trainers they had gone up against. But against a foe like Brock, who utilized the defensive rock types, such a carefree approach wouldn't cut it.

"Okay, that's enough," Brock said, and stepped out of his marked area. Ash relaxed, assuming that the demonstration was over. "Like I said, your Aron has good form in his moves and seems pretty tough even for his age, but you'll need a better movepool and something to counter his low speed. Metal claw gives you more versatility and another close combat move other than headbutt."

He clapped a hand on Ash's shoulder and steered him to an exit in the back corner of the gym. "Why don't we take this next part outside?"

Wary but still eager for the older trainer's guidance, Ash followed his direction. Tank trotted at his heels.

The exit opened up to a sort of backyard for the gym, comprised of many little terraced ledges. Since the gym had been built in the side of the mountain, the yard was sloped dramatically upwards.

"We've tested your Pokemon," Brock said, beginning to hike a little ways up the steep incline. "But we haven't tested _you_ as a trainer yet. Go stand over there." He gestured to the left side of the yard. Even though he was confused, Ash obeyed. To his surprise, the terrain was more difficult to traverse than he had anticipated. The earth was extremely loose and crumbly here; every step sank in the aerated soil a good inch and slid due to the angle. He slipped several times and was only saved from embarrassing himself by Tank's steady press against his legs.

"All trainers need to be strong themselves in order to raise strong Pokemon. Your Pokemon can only grow as much as you can. If you're weak or indecisive, you'll fail in battle time and time again," Brock shouted across the distance between them. His hands were cupped around his mouth to help his voice reach. "This is especially true for trainers of rock-type Pokemon. If you're not balanced—if you're not "solid" yourself, then you won't command their respect at all!"

Ash wasn't entirely sure what Brock was getting at, but thought he understood the gist of it and nodded regardless. Brock seemed to sigh before snapping his fingers. Geodude jerked to attention.

"Geodude, use Magnitude!" He ordered.

Ash stepped back in surprise as the ground beneath him started to shake. The loose earth seemed to swallow his feet and he flailed, falling forward clumsily. Tank was perfectly composed next to him, easily able to hold his ground, but Ash couldn't seem to stand up straight for the duration of the low-powered attack.

When it finally ended, Ash was a panting mess kneeling awkwardly in the soil. There was something frightening about the very earth beneath your feet betraying you.

Brock, on the other hand, seemed as unbothered as Tank. "Balance yourself," he advised. "Geodude, Magnitude again."

Ash barely had the time to stand upright before the shaking began anew. His feet vibrated and the severe angle of the yard didn't help matters. He swayed, overbalanced to his right, and fell, rolling a few feet down the hill before digging his hands into the ground and pulling himself to a halt. Tank growled in concern.

Though he was uninjured, Ash's face was burning in embarrassment. He couldn't believe how easy Brock made it look to stand so steadily when the soil was bucking beneath him like a Ponyta.

"Get up, try again," Brock ordered. His face, so warm only moments ago, was hard and unsympathetic. "You want to get strong, don't you? I heard about what happened in Pallet a few months ago. That was a terrible thing. But if you don't get a grip on it, it's going to throw you as easily as this magnitude. Try again."

Ash couldn't focus properly, instinctively angry at Brock's mention of his mother's death and suddenly barraged by the grief-filled memories it summoned. When the next magnitude rocked its way through the ground, he barely lasted a second before going down hard.

"Are you a trainer or aren't you?" Brock yelled. "Use your Pokemon! Make me stop! Magnitude, again!"

Ash swayed, but this time wrenched himself away from another fall in time to command breathlessly, "Tank, Mud-slap!"

The Aron, who had been watching him in helpless concern this whole time, turned his furious attention towards the enemy Pokemon upsetting his trainer. Mud flew from the attack, scoring a hit directly on the Geodude's stony features. The Pokemon flinched and scraped at its face, but its hands were roughly-shaped and lacked the finesse needed to scoop the mud from the pits of its skin where mud had settled in globs. The magnitude abated slightly as its attention was split.

Seizing his chance, Ash planted himself more firmly in the earth and ordered, "Headbutt!"

Tank charged across the shifting earth so easily it might as well have been still. His attack connected squarely with the blinded Geodude's face and knocked it out of its magnetic levitation. It landed heavily and its natural weight drove it a few inches into the soft soil.

The force behind the Headbutt had stunned it, but it wouldn't hold for long. Ash needed to press his advantage, but how?

"Tank, try Metal Claw!" He shouted desperately. He'd shown Tank a few short videos on Pokemon using the move but that was the extent of the preparation they'd done for it. Hopefully Tank would have seen enough to be able to emulate the move and apply it in battle.

Without questioning him, Tank growled and charged the fallen Geodude. His back legs, short as they appeared, were as powerfully compact as the rest of his body; they launched him off the ground and let him achieve a surprising amount of height. Ash caught a glimpse of pure white energy gathering at the tips of Aron's front legs.

Aron didn't naturally have claws. They had no need to, when their bodies could withstand nearly any attack and a single charge packed enough power to flip a truck. That was the one hurdle that every Aron needed to circumvent in order to master metal claw. For most Pokemon, Metal Claw worked by lengthening, sharpening, and reinforcing their claws all at the same time until they were harder than steel and could pierce diamond. However, the technique was different for Aron, who had no natural claws to fortify.

Instead, they needed to control the steel caps of their feet and twist them into the crude imitation of claws. It required the Aron to have a measure of control over the organic steel of its body plating. Ash hadn't been sure Tank was old enough to accomplish the feat, but as he watched, Tank came down like a silver bullet on the hapless Geodude, "claws" shining brightly as they slashed into the rocky form.

"Yes!" he cheered as the dust that had been kicked up settled to reveal a triumphant Tank crouching over an unconscious Geodude. The fallen Pokemon disappeared a moment later in a cloud of red energy that was sucked back into its Pokeball. Brock's eyes were closed and he was smiling again, countenance completely relaxed and warm—a stark contrast to the seasoned trainer he'd revealed himself to be moments ago.

"I knew you'd pull through," he chortled. "Nothing like a little trash-talk to raise the fighting spirit, eh? And look—the moment you got serious and focused, Tank learned Metal Claw."

Ash had run out to the middle of the yard, where Tank remained with his chest puffed out. He knelt next to his Pokemon and threw his arms around Tank's neck. In return, the steel-type nuzzled him gently. His steel head felt cool and smooth against Ash's flushed skin.

"I knew you could do it, buddy," he whispered. Tank closed his eyes and rumbled.

"Work on Metal Claw a bit more and you should be set to challenge the gym," Brock told him, his footsteps crunching through the gravelly earth. He squatted on his heels and likewise began lavishing the rock/steel-type with praise. "You've got a very good Aron. You should be proud."

"I am," Ash said warmly. Then he frowned, remembering his earlier thought. "Why would you help Tank learn that move? It's really effective against your Pokemon, so what do you have to gain by teaching it to a future challenger?"

Brock raised his tanned hands in defense. "Hey, I never taught him it. I just gave him the extra push he needed to get there on his own. And besides, one of the gym leader's duties is to guide trainers and encourage personal growth. We're supposed to be difficult, yeah, but not impossible. Or at least that's what I think."

The older trainer blushed sheepishly. "And…I may have been a little bored lately."

Ash chuckled, then stood up and stretched. The sun was starting to set, a sinking ball of flaming orange hovering low over a distant mountain ridge. Streaks and chevrons of orange and pink glowed radiantly around it and ignited the swathes of clouds into color. It was the most magnificent sunset Ash had seen in a while and for a moment he simply stared at it, feeling refreshed.

"Well, I better be getting back to the gym. It was a pleasure meeting you," Brock said. Ash saw him suppress a yawn and smiled.

"You too. Thanks for all you've done," Ash said sincerely. He clasped hands with Brock and they shook once before breaking apart.

"So I guess I'll see you sometime tomorrow for your official challenge, huh?" Brock asked as they carefully slid down the hill to the gym's back entrance. He held the door open for Ash and closed it securely after they had passed through.

"I think so," Ash said. "Like you said, I want to work on metal claw a bit more and work with my Gastly as well."

"Well, as far as I know I don't have any challengers in the evening time slots," Brock told him. They were making their way back through the gym's main battlefield. All of the minimal damage that Tank had managed to inflict upon the controlled environment had vanished. Ash frowned, chalking it up to the advanced technology available to gym leaders.

"I'll keep that in mind," Ash answered. They said their goodbyes at the gym's entrance and Ash walked out. Whatever the purpose of Brock's exercise had been, Ash was left feeling more sure of himself than before. Through their practice fight, he had demonstrated that he was capable of controlling his Pokemon and guiding them to victory. He also felt a measure of inner peace. Although it had hurt at the time to be reminded of his mother's murder, what Brock had said was true—he couldn't let his strong hatred for Team Rocket overcome him to the point where he couldn't think clearly anymore. Ash had already experienced that sort of mental loss once and he promised himself he would never sink that low again.

They had a quick meal at the PokeCenter and Ash decided to turn in early. He left the shower running for Tank, who had become very prideful over the state of his armor and demanded to be cleaned up. When he came back in to brush his teeth, Tank was rolling blissfully in the light spray, allowing it to rinse off the mud and dust. When Ash dried him off with a towel, he nearly shone.

Ash set his alarm for early in the morning and settled in the bed. PokeCenter beds were comfortable but not anything spectacular—although he supposed anything was considered luxurious next to camping out in the wild. Slight scuffling sounds reached his ears and he assumed Tank was settling down on the floor to sleep, but the next thing he knew, a great weight had launched itself upwards and landed on the mattress beside him. Ash was lucky Tank had missed his legs or he'd be developing a very nasty and large bruise.

He raised himself on his forearms. "You want to sleep in the bed?"

The Pokemon gave a single grating click as an affirmative and collapsed gracelessly, already half asleep. Smiling, Ash burrowed back into his blankets and was just entering a light doze when he remembered Shade. He frowned and sat upright. It wasn't fair of him to allow Tank free reign but keep Shade cooped up in his Pokeball. Though the Pokemon could be malicious at times, none of his pranks towards Ash had been made with lethal intent and Ash trusted him enough to be able to control the gaseous matter of his body.

He grabbed the Pokeball from the nightstand and released the catch mechanism.

Shade's eyes burned in the darkness and that same eerie feeling of other-worldliness that accompanied him swept over Ash. He brushed it off after a moment.

"You can lurk under the bed tonight, if you'd like," Ash offered hesitantly. He was hoping that Shade would recognize it as the peace offering that it was. Fortunately, the ghost-type seemed rather intelligent. With a delighted cackle, he zoomed right under the bedframe and melded with the shadows.

Ash wasn't sure if Shade actually slept at night or not. That was when he was most active, but Ash wondered if Shade was really able to stay in place without getting bored for hours on end or if he wandered while Ash slept. Since Shade hadn't done anything last night when he had accidentally been given free reign, Ash decided it was okay.

That matter settled, Ash was finally able to relax. He laid back down and nuzzled his head into the pillow. So much had happened today and Tank had made serious improvements. Ash had no doubt that they would be able to challenge the gym tomorrow—and win.

However, if he kept thinking of the battle tomorrow, he would never get to sleep, so Ash forced the matter from his mind and soon drifted off to the sound of Tank's light snores.

* * *

This time, when he woke up, the very first thing Ash did was wiggle silently to the edge of the bed and slowly lower himself until he could see under it.

Shade wasn't there, and Ash breathed a sigh of relief. Being scared that way yesterday had taken years off his life. Ash wasn't looking forward to a repeat experience. The coast was clear, however, so Ash shoved Tank until the Pokemon woke up mid-snore and sat up, face stretched by a splitting yawn. Ash could hear muted crashed coming from the private attached bathroom—this PokeCenter seemed affluent than the Viridian one—and assumed Shade was playing around behind the closed door. He had better get up and put a stop to whatever Shade was doing in there before the PokeCenter charged him for damages.

Sighing, he stumbled upright and plodded to the bathroom. He still felt sore, but hopefully that would dwindle as his limbs became accustomed to vigorous exercise.

"Shade," he said warningly as he neared the bathroom. "If a single thing is broken in there, may Arceus have mercy on your soul."

Was that a decent threat? Did Gastly have souls?

He shook the errant thought from his mind as all activity in the bathroom ceased. For a long moment all was quiet—and then Shade burst into a thunderous racket.

Ash flung open the door.

Shade levitated there in a perfectly neat and orderly bathroom, an "innocent" smile crinkling his wide eyes and stretching his mouth. Several objects still vibrated softly as whatever energy had encompassed them faded. Ash dragged a hand down his face in defeat. Though it was obvious Shade must have been doing something, at least he could reverse or fix his damages.

"Out," Ash grumbled, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. Shade didn't want to push his luck; the ghost sailed past him with a leery smirk. Before Ash had finished closing the door after him he heard Tank's irritated growl and Shade's interested chuckle.

Tank was possibly one of the best matches Ash could have picked for Shade. Even though his attacks before had been completely ineffective (not anymore with the addition of Metal Claw to his arsenal), Shade was almost just as inefficient against the Aron. Poison-type moves didn't affect steel-types. Even Gastly's signature attack of suffocating their victims was nearly worthless, as Aron could go up to nearly an hour without breathing. It was an ability they had developed due to tunneling or eating their way deep into mountains, where pockets of smothering gas could be released, or where rockfalls and landslides could collapse without a moment's notice.

An ideal match for Shade would have been another ghost-type or a dark-type Pokemon.

Ghosts were effective against one another because they were the only types of Pokemon able to harness and wield their brand of peculiar energy. So even though a Gastly could dematerialize its body at will, and render itself invisible in shadows, a fellow ghost-type would be able to track and attack it easily. Because of their cruel, mischievous base nature and general rarity, ghost-on-ghost battles were some of the most highly-watched and brutal battles in league-sanctioned events. Only dragon-on-dragon fights drew more money.

Ash started up the shower and waited for it to get warm, cranking up the spray to block out Tank and Shade's bickering.

The sun was shining strongly as Ash finally took the last few steps up to the gym. He chose to take it as a good omen and tried to unknot the bundle of nerves that had twisted in his stomach.

It was five o'clock. Ash had figured he might be arriving a little earlier than Brock had recommended, but he would rather be early than late on such an important day. And who knows? Maybe Brock would finish his battles earlier than expected.

For the first time in what felt like a long time, Ash was completely alone as he crossed the threshold. Tank and Shade had been withdrawn into their Pokeballs. Taking advantage of the free time left to them earlier that day had done wonders in their training, but Ash wanted his fighters to be as fresh as possible for the match. Since Pokeballs preserved their Pokemon in perfect stasis, he had let them rest for a time before recalling them.

Even though it was for their betterment, Ash couldn't help but feel naked and helpless without his hardy friend by his side—or even the playful (occasionally obnoxiously so) Shade looming over his shoulder.

The same secretary from yesterday looked up from her paperwork at Ash's entrance. She smiled kindly and motioned him over.

"Ah, you're that young trainer from yesterday, aren't you?" she asked warmly. "Brock talked a lot about you today, says you have a lot of potential. He's been looking forward to your match."

Ash blushed shyly at the praise. In his town, he'd never been the best of anything—the prodigious Gary had stolen that title from him. To hear an adult notice his talents was more gratifying than he had imagined it would be.

"Thank you," he said demurely as he started the paperwork. The secretary helped explain some of the clauses—the agreement not to sue if serious injury or death was incurred on either side, the fixed income ratio for prize money either side would forfeit upon losing, and so on—until he only had to sign his name at the bottom of the form to finish it.

The agreements he was signing off on seemed callous and unforgiving at face-value, but Ash knew that Pokemon dying in battles, even gym ones, was incredibly rare. _Especially_ in gym battles, actually, where the experienced leader's Pokemon knew exactly how much force to apply without crossing into lethal territory. In addition to that, Pokemon were incredibly hardy, far more than some of their appearances would suggest. Blows that would kill or otherwise incapacitate a human could be merely shrugged off by a Pokemon in the middle of a battle.

"You can take a seat until I notify you that he's ready," the lady told him after he'd handed over the finished docket. A copy of the form would be sent to all of the gyms in Kanto. Even if Ash never challenged another gym in his life, they would hold onto the information just in case. His signature was legally binding in all copies of the form.

The battlefield doors opened and Ronald waltzed through, humming to himself. The secretary looked up at his entry and asked, "How did it go?"

"Oh, the kid won. Had a decent Charmander on her. You know how those battles go when the little bugger knows metal claw."

The secretary _hmm'd_ sympathetically for Brock and went back to work. Meanwhile, Ronald noticed Ash sitting in the waiting area and smiled widely.

"Hey, kiddo! You taking on the gym?"

Ash nodded, still caught up in the small exchange he'd overheard. Metal claw really did seem like it was the key instrument for non-water or grass types to defeat Brock.

"Well," the guide sang out as he dropped into the seat next to Ash. Its legs wobbled perilously under his bulk. Ash tried to hide his uncomfortable flinch at his proximity. After his mother's death, exuberant and joyful people had been difficult to be around for long as Ash had come to find them emotionally draining. He was doing much better now, of course, thanks to Mary and Espeon's counseling, but sometimes he still found himself intimidated by such characters. "Are you looking for any hints?"

"Not really," Ash said quickly, "Brock and I—"

"Of course," the man bumbled on as though he hadn't heard Ash, "Brock is a rock-type specialist. If you're not careful he'll grind you up into dust! Grass and water-type Pokemon are your best bet."

Ash's eye twitched and he leaned farther away, understanding that it might be best just to let the guide ramble. "Okay, I'll keep that in mind."

Ronald beamed as though Ash had just professed his sincerest thanks for his help and got back up, ambling over to the secretary where they talked in low tones. He seemed like a rather simple, but as Brock said, well-meaning individual. Ash couldn't help but wonder if the rest of his brothers acted the same way.

He didn't have to wait nearly as long as he thought he would. What little time he sat there was spent messing around on the Pokedex and reading up on Kanto-native Pokemon. The minutes passed quickly until a soft chime jingled from the secretary's computer and she motioned him in through the enormous doors.

Ash entered just in time to catch the last dent in the battlefield being smoothed out by the underground controls. He looked at the spotless area curiously, wondering what Pokemon could have made such an impact. Brock's Geodude certainly wasn't powerful enough.

Brock was sitting by the side of the field, a safe distance away from the flashing signs signalling that construction was momentarily under way in order to restore the terrain to its former order. He was sweating lightly. The air temperature was rather warm.

The leader perked up when he noticed Ash standing there.

"Oh, hey Ash! Come on in! Just giving the field a last few fix-ups and then we'll be ready to go. That last challenger's Charmander was more powerful than I would have guessed it to be."

Well, that accounted for the elevated air temperature. Charmander's tail-flame could raise a room's temp. nearly five degrees, depending on their health and emotional status.

Ash gave a thumb's up to demonstrate his understanding and sat down to wait. As the whir of the underground generators began to decline, Brock released his Geodude. The Pokemon seemed slightly battered, deep claw marks scored into its craggy body.

"There you go, hold still," Brock soothed as he brought out a spray-bottle from his jacket pocket. Recognizing the trademarked Potion, Ash watched in interest as the gym leader lightly spritzed the groaning Pokemon's body with the medicine. Potions functioned by delivering a shot of energy to the Pokemon's nervous system. This energy was immediately used by the Pokemon's cells to heal from sustained damage. Even as Ash watched, the cracks sealed over.

They were another ingenious, if not expensive, sample of how far technology had progressed.

"Okay!" Brock said, dusting his hands off on his pants. He stood up and stretched. "Last battle of the day! You still up for another round, Geodude?" he directed to his Pokemon. The rock-type grunted and beat its hands together.

A woman dressed in black-and-white referee clothing likewise stood up from where she had been resting in the empty bleachers. She was rather pretty, something Brock seemed to take special notice of as his posture melted into a look more soft and mellow.

"My beautiful Sammy," he cooed as the referee assumed her place at the side of the field. "Are you ready?"

Distaste crossed the referee's aristocratic features. "Of all the gym leaders in Kanto, I get stuck with you," she hissed in disgust, then added sharply, "And I've told you before, it's _Samantha!_ "

Ash winced at the acidity of her tone, though the situation was rather humorous. He hadn't known about Brock's apparent amorous streak.

The tanned gym leader pouted miserably for a second before he shook himself out of his heartbroken daze. "Okay, then, ready when you are."

Sniffing haughtily, the referee threw her arm out dramatically and spoke in a raised voice for Ash's benefit. "Ash Ketchum, from Pallet Town, challenges Gym Leader Brock Harrison for the Boulder Badge! This will be a two-on-two battle! Medicinal items are prohibited from use during the battle! Time-outs are also illegal and will result in a forced forfeit! Do both combatants acknowledge these terms?"

"I do," Brock said lazily, with the air of one who's said the words far too often for them to hold any meaning anymore.

"I do," Ash mirrored quietly.

The referee swept her arm to the left. "Then let the match begin! Gym leader, release your Pokemon first!"

"All right, then!" Brock shouted, smiling widely. "Geodude, you're on!"

The Pokemon grumbled its battle-readiness and levitated forward onto the field. Ash fingered the two shiny Pokeballs at his hip and thought. He didn't know what Pokemon Brock used as his second combatant. But he did know Geodude, enough that he was willing to save Tank from spending himself in the first fight. After all, if Tank had knocked it out easily enough yesterday, then Ash should be able to take it down with Shade as well.

"Okay, Shade," he said, and thumbed the release on the Gastly's Pokeball. "This one is yours."

The ghost/poison-type looked far too gleeful as it manifested from the red cloud.

"You can have the first move, Ash!" Brock yelled across the field. His arms were crossed confidently and Ash grinned. Battles up until this point had been easy, due to Tank's type advantages and Shade's craftiness. But now, this was a fight that would actually test how well Ash could command his Pokemon against an experienced expert. Now he would know if his wins up until this point had been luck or actual skill.

"Night Shade!" he ordered. The special attack had a complete advantage over the Geodude, whose moves were primarily for close-combat. In addition, Geodude's signature move Defense Curl would be useless, because Shade wasn't inflicting physical pain. Night Shade was all mental.

Shade's eyes swirled and pulsed with eerier power. His fanged grin widened until it revealed the red insides of his mouth, very much resembling a bloody gash in the midst of the gas mixture. Brock recoiled in surprise. Perhaps he hadn't been expecting the Gastly to be strong or old enough to know the move. It was the single instance where Shade's previous master had done Ash any favors.

"Rollout!" Brock shouted quickly, but Geodude was too slow. Its squinty eyes filmed over in horror as an unimaginable terror appeared before it, an illusion crafted by the gleeful Gastly. Short, squealing grunts began tearing from its mouth as it wobbled and swayed. In its frenzy, it beat itself over the head multiple times. Tiny rock fragments rained down from the blows.

"Snap out of it!" Brock ordered, but it was as if Geodude couldn't hear. Shade began lazily sailing in circles around the helpless Pokemon, giggling softly. Though his body was made of gas, his cloud generally hovered around four-and-half feet in height and width. Compared to the foot-tall Geodude, the contrast seemed mockingly strange. It was a chilling sight, and Ash was suddenly thankful that Shade was on his team.

"Geodude, listen to me. Whatever you're seeing is not real. We're in a battle. Can you hear me?" Brock urged, but his tone was different, more collected and soothing than before. Ash frowned as the Geodude actually faltered and blinked dazedly, brought out of its fugue by its trainer's gentle voice. Was this what Brock had meant in his whole speech about stability? Remaining steady and focused under pressure?

"Lick," Ash said. Shade rushed in like a shadow and suddenly an enormous pink tongue lolled out and lathed over the Geodude's entire body in one upward swipe. Geodude shuddered as it was draped in strings of saliva. It had been weakened by its frenzy during Night Shade and, by unknowingly beating itself, had exposed chips in its body. The toxin in Shade's saliva acted that much quicker for it.

Geodude managed one weak jerk towards Shade, as though trying to perform Rollout, but it could not hold itself aloft. It crashed to the ground and stayed there in an unconscious heap. Face down, it was indistinguishable from any other rock dotting the field.

Brock seemed like he couldn't decide if he wanted to smile or frown. He recalled his fainted Pokemon without further dramatics. "I'm proud of you, Geodude," he muttered to his Pokeball. Ash saw it wiggle once before it was returned to its slot on Brock's belt.

"Okay, Ash, try this one on for size!" he yelled, flinging his Pokeball into the field. The catch opened and an enormous amount of red energy zigzagged onto the field. Ash's eyes widened as he was suddenly engulfed in the shadow of a leering Onix. It could have leaned over and swallowed him in one gulp. His heart instinctively skipped a beat and endorphins flooded his system.

Strangely, they cleared up the reactionary fear and let him think. Onix was much too big for the toxins in Lick to take effect quickly—which they would need to if he wanted to finish the battle before Onix could get one or two hits in. And now that he had exposed Shade's main offensive move, Night Shade, he doubted Brock would let it happen again.

He withdrew Shade.

"Ohoho!" Brock said, delighted. "And here was me thinking you weren't even going to use your Aron at all, even after the training!"

Ash gritted his teeth as Tank appeared in a flash. The small Pokemon craned his head back at a humorous angle in order to fully see his opponent. His clear blue irises widened in shock. Onix was the biggest Pokemon either of them had seen to date, but Ash was confident in his friend's abilities.

"I move first this time!" Brock told him. Ash wondered if Brock had volunteered to let Ash go first for the battle with Geodude on purpose, so that he could have the first move with his main battler. "Onix, use Rock Tomb!"

The gigantic rock snake reared back, increasing its height even more. Now Ash understood why the gym's ceiling was so high. Its roar was simultaneously like the low rumble of a landslide and the spitting hiss of an Ekans. Tank could only stare in confusion as the floor began to tremble underneath it.

Before Ash could call out a counter-attack, chunks of solid rock tore themselves free from the ground and levitated upwards. Onix's beady eyes glowed with geokinetic power.

"Tank, Harden!" Ash quickly interjected. There was no way Tank was going to be able to dodge that barrage of boulders. He'd have to trust in Tank's defensive capabilities. Even so, the anxiety returned in his stomach.

Tank obeyed unquestioningly, apparently sensing the fruitlessness of a dodge. His limbs retracted into his compact body until he resembled a silver bullet with a single protruding spike.

The boulders, without warning, shot forward and smashed into Tank from a multitude of angles, effectively entombing him and hindering his movement. Ash bit his nails nervously.

"Tank?" he called out carefully once the dust had cleared. Brock seemed to be at ease with waiting for the outcome.

A cheerful chirp, though muffled, filtered from somewhere within the heap of rock. Ash was astonished. For a moment there, he'd thought Tank was done for, but he barely even seemed hurt. A harsh glow shone from between the cracks and Tank burst through the heap a split second later, sending shattered bits of flint and shale flying. Ash protected his face with his arm, grinning helplessly.

Tank perched himself atop the pile. A long, thin scratch had sliced down his right flank, but that was the only visible marking Ash could see, and even the scratch didn't seem too bad. He realized dimly that Tank had used Metal Claw to break free from his prison.

Brock looked like he was going to say something, but Ash wanted to press his advantage while Onix was too surprised to react. Thankfully the huge Pokemon seemed rather dumb and slow.

"Metal Claw!" he shouted breathlessly.

Tank's position atop the pile had elevated him closer to the Onix's broad head. His leap didn't take nearly as much exertion as it would have if he had attempted from ground level. The sharp glowing claws formed easily and Tank managed to get in two swipes directly between its eyes that had crossed while trying to follow his trajectory.

The Onix flailed in pain. Deep gouges had been scored on its sloping forehead. The pain upset its balance and it fell forward, smashing onto the battlefield. Tank landed solidly in front of the Onix, his feet smashing a good few inches into the ground.

"Tackle!" Brock shouted.

"Headbutt!" Ash immediately countered.

Both Pokemon rushed each other, although Onix was slightly disoriented from the direct hit. The sound of the collision they created sent out a concussive blast the stirred Ash's bangs underneath his hat. Onix's massive form sinuously slid backwards, carving a furrow into the earth. Its crown was deeply fractured. The wound seemed serious but judging by the twitches Onix made, Ash knew it was alive. It might have taken a lot of damage but the species wouldn't be so feared if they weren't resilient.

It seemed Tank was fast enough after all.

Where had Brock even gotten an Onix, anyway? Didn't they burrow close to the center of the Earth? They rarely broke the surface.

"Onix is unable to battle. Victory goes to the challenger!" The referee shouted. She seemed rather unfairly gleeful that her gym leader had lost. Considering how much flirting she tolerated though, Ash supposed he could understand the sentiment.

Brock reappeared when Onix's slumped form was broken down into red energy and sucked back into the Pokeball.

He didn't seem to be too upset about losing. "Great job, Ash. You capitalized on your Pokemon's advantages and used your surroundings. You deserve the Boulder Badge." He pulled his arm back and threw something with surprising skill over the ruined battlefield. Ash bounced it clumsily between his hands before managing to grab it firmly.

The pendant glittered softly in his palms. It was rather simple and unextravagant—an octogonal obsidian gem with faceted surfaces. Still though, Ash could barely keep his fingers from trembling as he worked the needle through his jacket and closed the safety lock. It sparkled in the gym's fluorescent lighting.

All of his mother's strict lessons on manners came back to him and he bowed at the waist. "Thank you, Brock. I couldn't have done it without your help."

The older teen, almost a man, really, shook his head good-naturedly and jammed his hands in his pockets. "Naw, kid. You would've gotten it eventually. I just boosted you up a little." He had left his marked area and begun walking around the field's perimeter, completely relaxed now that the thirst for battle had faded. Ash patted Tank one last time and recalled the tired Pokemon to give him a rest.

Brock walked with him to the gym's entrance.

"How'd it go, Champ-to-be?" Ronald asked happily as soon as they made it to the receptionist room. He was kneeling before the Rhydon statue, a delicate chisel in one hand and a name half-carved into the marble. Assuming it must be the trainer who had won before Ash's arrival, he peered closer and could make out "Leaf G—" before Ronald shifted positions and ended up blocking the rest.

Brock grinned and flicked the bill of Ash's hat. "He passed with flying colors. Add his name to the list."

Ronald pumped his fist. "Oh, yeah!" In an excited whisper to Ash, "I knew you could do it, kid, the moment I saw you, I said to myself, 'Ronald, that kid's gonna be the champion one day, just you wait,' and sure enough, here yo—"

"Ronald," Brock said exasperatedly.

Ronald blushed. "Not—not to say it was an easy feat beating you, sir, no, not at all. I bet you made him work for it, huh? Made him beg for you to go easy?" He gave a strained chuckle, sweating nervously.

Brock smashed the palm of his hand into his face, as though he keep wipe away the mental exhaustion.

Ronald bobbed his head repeatedly. "Right, sir, right, I'll, uh, I'll get back to chiselin' and whatnot." He dove back to his task with all the seriousness and focus of an Alakazam. Ash could barely hold back his laughter. Even Brock seemed to be smiling slightly underneath his shielding hand.

"Well," he sighed, facing Ash, "it was nice meeting you. You gonna come back for a rematch when you're stronger?" he asked hopefully.

"Definitely," Ash grinned. They clasped hands seriously for a moment, but then Brock smirked and pulled him in for a noogie. At Ash's annoyed struggles, he laughed and said, "I can't help it! You look so much like my younger brothers when you pull that tough face!"

Red as a firetruck, Ash shoved him off and stumbled away, straightening out his rumpled clothes with affronted pride. The receptionist muffled a giggle behind a dainty hand and Ash worked hard to hide his pleasure. He'd never had a sibling before, and after Gary had declared him a weird outcast, none of the town kids wanted to play with him. Being treated like a little brother was both annoying and… really, really nice.

There was still an hour of good daylight left when Ash finally left the gym. He stopped by the PokeCenter long enough to gather his belongings and enjoy his last quality meal before embarking on the longer road to Cerulean.

The badge might have been simple, but it shone in the rays of the sun well enough.

* * *

 **A/N: Ronald is my Samwise Gamgee and I love him.**

 **Don't forget to review! :)**


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